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William knew the voice in his head wasn’t real. The sing-song quality had faded to an echo, but the whispered words were still coherent, still luring him forward like they had years ago. Come here. Bring me the baby.
Moving through the dust, the attic looked the same as it did each night in his dreams. Its walls were darkened from filth and soot from the long-ago fire. William knew the floorboards he now stood on were compromised from years of exposure to the elements, but he didn’t care. He stared up through the charred holes in the roof, patches of a gray September sky visible overhead.
“It’s a miracle the fire did not swallow the plantation whole,” William’s great-aunt Sylvie told him on his last visit, her gnarled hands trembling ever-so-slightly over the worn armrests of her wheelchair. She no longer had the strength in her arthritic fingers to grip the wheels and steer the chair herself, so William pushed her to the little courtyard garden of the old-age home. “I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was so young. We danced and drank champagne until sunrise.”
William knew the story by heart. Sylvie had told him the story so many times as a child. “And the fire raged until morning,” William repeated. He liked that word, raged. It seemed to suit him. He often awoke at night in fits of rage himself, consumed with an artist’s desire to create. Clay had become his outlet . . . the sculpting of soft, cool mud into something beautiful. He had even had some commercial success at some of the smaller SoHo galleries. But he was never satisfied with his work.
“I wasn’t there when it began,” his great-aunt said, patting William’s hand and smiling at him through eyes partly blinded by cataracts. “I had gone into the city with Chester and Miriam. We often frequented the jazz bars that never closed. And when we came back, the fire was blazing in every window. There was glass everywhere. And such heat! Poor Philip had lost all control, and poor Elizabeth was nowhere to be found.”
“Tell me about Elizabeth,” William asked, even though he already knew the family legends. Elizabeth had been Sylvie’s second or third cousin, a distant relation to William himself. He knew how, at her parents’ behest, Elizabeth had agreed to marry a rich Atlanta banker named Philip who built the grand house for her as a wedding present. Philip had escorted Elizabeth to every event and party thrown by Atlanta’s social elite. According to Sylvie, Philip had taken to alcohol “like a child to a candy stick.” Elizabeth had been raised in a strict Catholic home where temperance and abstinence were preached regularly. “Had her parents known Philip’s true nature, I wonder if they would have pushed the marriage?” Sylvie told William. “But his money did the trick. As you know, our family never suffered during the Depression.”
Sylvie sat back against her chair and lifted her face to the afternoon sun. “We used to be the best of friends, Elizabeth and me,” she said wistfully. “We laughed and shared secrets on summer evenings as we sat on the galleries of my home. You know the galleries I speak of, William. You used to play Jacks on the very boards where Elizabeth and I once sat. But once Philip entered her life, it was as if a door closed on our relationship. He kept her behind lock and key, unless he was showing her off at one of his parties.
“She was such a beautiful child,” Sylvie continued. “No more than eighteen when she married Philip, and I was only two years younger than her, mind you. But she became more and more reclusive, withdrawing into herself,” Sylvie said, shaking her head.
William also knew Elizabeth’s fate.
“On the night of her twenty-first birthday, Philip hosted a large celebration in honor of his wife. She sat in the corner of that great parlor the whole night, dressed in beautiful silk and beads, her hair feathered away from her slender face. She was as unmoving as a statue, watching everyone do the Charleston and drink bootleg liquor. Philip never had a shortage. I saw Philip pull her from her seat once to dance with him, but she was liquid in his arms, moved by no will of her own. Her hands were draped over his shoulders, her face turned away from his, her feet barely touching the polished wood. I stopped to watch her, and when her face was turned toward me, her eyes were vacant. I tell you, William, there was no life left in that child.”
“What happened then?” William asked, even though he knew.
“I was told that after I left, Elizabeth slipped from the room unnoticed. Guests began to smell smoke, and as one man threw open the door to the cellar, clouds of black billowed into the parlor. Everyone ran from the house in a panic, breaking through windows and pushing so hard against doors they broke from their hinges. Philip ran through the house calling for Elizabeth, but he was finally forced into the open yard. The fire ate at the woodwork. It was still burning when we returned at dawn. There was something fierce and demanding about the fire, as if it savored the beauty and craft of the house.
Guests stood on the lawn, watching as the firemen battled the flames. Philip wandered through the throng searching for his wife. I ran to his side, but he looked right through me. There was a wild look in his eyes that I’ll never forget. The fire finally died in the early hours just after dawn, and in the pale, insubstantial light of morning, they found Elizabeth’s remains on the floor of the blackened cellar. She left behind a husband who blamed himself for her death. The papers reported suicide and arson. Philip disappeared one day, and no one ever saw or heard from him again. I may be almost 100, but I will never forget that night.”
Now, as William walked across the attic nearly 80 years later, he heard laughter rise up through the floorboards. He heard the clinking of glass and faint strains of music. He smelled the memory of smoke and heard the echo of screams. And he heard her voice, beckoning him, calling to him.
Come here. Bring me the baby.
Melissa Hunter is an author and blogger from Cincinnati, Ohio. Her articles have been published on Kveller.com and LiteraryMama.com. She is a contributing blogger to the Today Show parenting community, and her short stories have been published in the Jewish Literary Journal. She is currently writing a novel based on her grandmother’s experiences as a Holocaust survivor and the psychological impact this had on her life. When not writing, Melissa loves spending family time with her husband and two beautiful daughters. Connect with Melissa via her website, Facebook, and on Twitter as @cleancopywriter. | English | NL | b184997549d6c532b5b02297b0decbc9154c92ba60c3ed25e41b43aa156d4130 |
Baronets of Hethel & Hargham Halls
Thomas Beevor, 1st Baronet (1726-1814)
The Beevors enter the history of Hethel when Thomas Beevor eloped with Elizabeth Branthwayt (1727-1794) and married in 1750. Elizabeth was heiress of Miles Branthwayt, who opposed their marriage but was later reconciled with his daughter and new son-in-law who inherited Hethel Hall along with land in Hethel, East Carlton and Wreningham when Miles died in 1751. There is more about Elizabeth, her pedigree and their children under the The Branthwayts.
Thomas Beevor was the eldest surviving son of another Thomas Beevor (1689-1758) who had married three times. His first wife, Margaret (d.1716) was the mother of one daughter, Catherine, who died as a baby. His second wife, Rose Clough (d.1723) had two daughters and a son, but only Elizabeth lived to adulthood. Thomas then married his third wife, Hester Sharp, in 1724 and they had 7 children, of whom 4 survived to be adults.
Thomas Beevor snr had come from Yorkshire to Norfolk with his parents (William Beevor, 1658-1718, and Elizabeth Batt) at the age of 7. He was the 6th child (out of 11) and was apprenticed to a grocer. He went on to be a grocer in Norwich, but by the time he married Hester he had become a brewer and lived in a fine house in Magdalene Street. Due to the early deaths of his older brothers, he became his father's heir and he had managed to marry heiresses. But presumably when it came to the future of his son and heir Thomas Beevor, a brewer's boy - even if a wealthy one - was not good enough for Miles Branthwayt's only surviving child, Elizabeth!
the eldest son of Thomas Beevor and Hester Sharpe, Thomas was provided with the
best education that could be obtained. He was sent to Eton School, was entered at
Lincoln's Inn and by 1743 he was a scholar at Trinity Hall, Cambridge. After he married Elizabeth, they set up home in Norwich where their first child, Anna Bettina (1751-1780) was born. Soon afterwards they moved to Hethel Hall. Thomas
fulfilled the criteria to be a magistrate - he had an estate worth in excess of
£100 per annum, was a full member of the Church of England and so he began what was to be fifty years service as a JP. He also
developed an interest in politics and stood, unsuccessfully, as an Independent for Norwich in 1768. He was to stand again in 1786 and 1790 but was defeated each time. He seems to have still had time for his estate lands, took an interest in arboriculture, and
took great care of the Hethel Thorn. He
was created a Baronet on 22 January 1784 'for services to agriculture' and he later displayed a particular
interest in root crop cultivation as a method to feed the poor and as a means
to nourish livestock.
From The Gazette for December 16th - 20th, 1783:
His work as a JP led him to become involved in prison reform and in 1785 he supervised the rebuilding of the old prison in Wymondham as a 'model prison' to a design by John Howard using the cell system. In 1805 his years as a JP were recognised by a presentation of silver by the Chairman and Committee of Chief Constables. He also played his part in the Napoleonic War by becoming a Lieutenant of a Division of the Militia (an administrative post).
His wife, Dame Elizabeth, died in 1794 having borne 7 children. Their eldest son - another Thomas Beevor (1853-1820) inherited Hethel Hall when his father died in 1814.
Thomas Beevor, 2nd Baronet (1753-1820)
Like his father, Thomas was educated at Eton and then went to Trinity Hall Cambridge. However there is no evidence that he completed a degree, studied law or embarked on any profession. It seems that he returned to Hethel Hall and occupied himself with hunting and his social life. He served as a JP, then in later years he became Chairman of Quarter Sessions and also a Deputy Lieutenant for Norfolk. But with this Thomas the Beevor fortunes seem to go into decline....
In 1795 (age 42) he married Ann Hare , the only surviving child of Hugh and Mary Hare of Hargham, south of Attleborough, Norfolk. Thomas and Ann lived in Old Buckenham and had three children but the marriage does not appear to have been happy. By 1802 Ann took the bold step of returning to live with her mother at Hargham Hall, taking the three children with her. There were some unresolved legal proceedings and in 1814 it was reported in The Norfolk Annals that : In the Arches Court, Doctors' Commons, was heard a cause for the restitution of conjugal rights promoted by Mr. (afterwards Sir) Thomas Beevor, of Mangreen Hall, against Ann Beevor. In this case the court admonished Mrs. Beevor to return again to the society of her husband. Ann chose not to be reconciled with her husband and upon his death in 1820 resumed the use of her maiden name. She died in Paris in 1837.
Throughout the years it seemed that Thomas always had
financial difficulties and he did not inspire confidence in his
financial management. This is indicated both in both Mary Hare's will and also in
the terms his father's will, who only left him, in a trust, a
life interest in the Hethel Estates. Following
his father's death in 1814 Thomas lived in Hethel Hall until his own death in
1820. He is buried in the mausoleum in Hethel Church.
The children of Thomas & Ann did not live much, if at all, at Hethel Hall. They were brought up first in Old Buckenham, then taken by their mother to Hargham Hall. How much they saw of their grandfather or father at Hethel Hall we do not know.
Thomas Branthwayt Beevor (1798-1879) was the only son and became the 3rd Baronet.
Mary Ann Beevor (1800-1823) - in 1819 she married Isaac Preston (1789-1848), a barrister who later became Recorder of Norwich. They had 3 children, though the first died as a baby, and the only boy was named Isaac Jermy. Mary herself died when only 23. Her widower changed his name to Isaac Preston-Jermy to comply with an inheritance, and their son became Isaac Jermy Jermy.
Isaac inherited Stanfield Hall (above), next-door to Hethel Hall and still standing, and both father and son were murdered there by James Blomfield Rush, tenant of Potash Farm, in 1848. Sophie Jane Jermy, nee Chevalier, widow of Isaac Jermy Jermy comes back into the story because in 1850 she married Thomas Beevor, son and heir of Thomas Branthwayt Beevor, her mother-in-law's brother!
Juliana Bettina Beevor (1801-1828) married an Essex vicar and had 5 children. At her request she was buried at Hargham Hall
Thomas Branthwayt Beevor, 3rd Baronet (1798-1879)
Thomas, the eldest and only son, probably spent four years living at Hethel Hall and then moved with his mother and sisters to Hargham. He went to school at Felsted, and then at Oundle. In 1815 he entered Trinity Hall followed by Christ's College in 1817, but does not appear to have taken a degree. In 1819 he married Elizabeth Bridget Lubbock and soon afterwards became the third baronet upon the death of his father. In addition to Hethel Hall, Thomas Branthwayt inherited considerable debts from his father and in 1828, with the agreement of his trustees, he sold Hethel Hall and its lands to Mr Hudson Gurney of Keswick and turned his attention to improving and extending the Hargham estate. He and Elizabeth had two children - including his son and heir Thomas Beevor (1823-1885) who was to marry the young widow Sophia Jane Jermy of Stanfield Hall (whose first husband, Isaac Jermy Jermy had been murdered by James B Rush) and later became the 4th Baronet.
Thomas Branthwayt Beevor was widowed three times. After his wife Elizabeth died in 1831, he married twice more - to Martha Hardiment in New York, by whom he had 7 children; and to Mary Davies, by whom he had 3 more children. Apart from a short spell in America he lived in Norfolk, where he was friends with the political radical William Corbett, and began calling himself 'Citizen Beevor', wearing breeches and gaiters of his own design. He was also interested in archaeology, land management and tree planting. He served as a JP, was on the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital board, and joined the Unitarians. In 1862 he was ready to retire to Great Yarmouth and left the management of the Hargham estate to his son and heir, Thomas. Thomas Branthwayt in 1879. He was buried at Hargham with a cedar tree planted over his grave.
Thus it was that the Thomas who was given the name Branthwayt as well as Beevor is also the man who finally severed the Branthwayt-Beevor link with Hethel. The Beevor family continues to live at Hargham, where Sir Thomas Hugh Cunliffe Beevor (born 1962) succeeded his father Sir Thomas Agnew Beevor, to become the 8th baronet in 2017.
Based on material researched by Alison Lee for the Hethel Heritage weekend 2017 - with grateful thanks. | English | NL | 7597795202bfb06eff858c71d64abbb37df96b9e1df960e19752d6084084a8f1 |
My name is Ilene. They started calling me ‘ill wind’ back in sophomore year of high school. I didn’t care. There were some who thought it was some kind of sly play on how I must fart a lot. Like there is anything sly about teenage boys. To anyone who asked, they would clamour to explain the full statement, with a perverse emphasis on *blows* nobody good, to ensure the full weight of the nickname was understood.
The funny thing was, they never stopped trying. Even though they spread the rumour I gave the worst blowjobs around, the fact was, a bad blowjob is better than none. Hardly a week would go by without someone cornering me, glancing furtively about, to make sure there was no one watching him approach the ill wind.
I turned them all down.
I’d never given a single blowjob in my life, good or bad. My best friend since grade two, Gina, perfectly cute and bubbly in that teen magazine acid wash denim, pink hightop cutout way, used to get so angry.
“Why don’t you say anything? Why do you let them perpetuate this bullshit?”
“Because it won’t make a damn bit of difference.”
It made her roll her pretty blue eyes every time, but she never argued. She knew it was the truth.
Gina had given a total of four blowjobs, preferring to get her boyfriend off with her hands, though she found the whole process distasteful, her lips twisting in a grimace that wasn’t well suited to magenta coloured tutti frutti gloss. She was saving her perfect pink pussy for after graduation, a fact which she had already shared with Dan, her perfectly popular jock boyfriend, though she hadn’t disclosed that it wasn’t him she was saving it for. “I’m not stupid. If Dan knew I planned to drop him the second we graduate, the pressure would be on. But I’m not going to be the high school cliche. I’m saving myself for a real college man. I can’t wait to get out of here.” Her perfect boyfriend later spiked the punch at junior prom and date raped her free of her cherished virginity. We didn’t call it date rape back then. It was just a date that ended the way most did. It also got her pregnant.
Her parents put her on a greyhound bus to her mother’s younger sister, two states away. Aunt Ellie, the weird one who could never land a man. Whenever she came up, Gina’s dad used to guffaw slightly, as though the laugh got caught in his throat and somehow transformed into a choked out, “lesbo!” Then he would erupt into actual laughter, more forced than hearty, while playfully punching his wife in the shoulder, as though her sister’s supposed sexual preference was a joke on her.
The last time I saw Gina was two weeks before our senior year was due to start. There was nothing pink about her anymore, she had a sallow look, as though the acid wash from her jeans had leached into her skin. One battered blue suitcase carrying what might be left of her dignity teetered on the sidewalk while her father looked anywhere but at her. I waited for him to laugh and punch her lightly in the shoulder but he didn’t. He just hugged her awkwardly and turned away before she could see the guilt that shimmered in his eyes. Guilt that he would spend the next two years trying to drown in whiskey from the inside out, until finally succeeding from the outside in when he drove off the elk river bridge one rainy Thursday in March.
I thought about asking her “Why didn’t you say anything? Why perpetuate this bullshit?”
But we both knew the answer to that.
At least her dream of getting out came true.
I remember the day the new kid showed up. A month into our senior year, he blew across the quad, intermingled with the dead leaves, a skittering crackle of russet. Messy hair, amber eyes, tall and lanky. He’d be big at some point, I could almost see the muscles he didn’t have yet. But for the moment, he looked frail enough that I could believe the wind had actually pushed him here.
I watched the shadows gather in the halls all that day. The boys were just like their fathers in our little town, cruel and frustrated, looking for someone or something to blame for the fear that kept them from sleeping soundly at night. Oh, they’d never admit to such things, and even if they had, it would be impossible to speak into words what they were afraid of. But that fear crept into the corners of their eyes and waited. For someone or something to blame. I felt bad for the new kid, I hoped he wouldn’t get it too bad, but there was a small part of me that was thankful for the attention that would be diverted from me, by his mere existence.
I walked home every day through a forest that had been forgotten. The suburban development encroached to a certain extent, and then just stopped, backyards petering off into moss covered rocks and thick stands of trees. Every so often someone’s cat would wander too far, curious and in search of prey, forgetting its own domesticity, and vanish. No one ever bothered to put up posters. Somehow this gave the woods a certain ominous atmosphere and most people stayed away. I was grateful for that, to me they felt like sanctuary.
Except that day. When Dan and his jock buddies decided to beat up the new kid on his first day, out of boredom, most likely. Dicks. He ran for the woods, who wouldn’t? But would they chase him in?
I watched from my perch, felt the thunder of their athletic feet drive into the damp October soil, their lust for blood heavy in the crisp air. I waited until they passed below and then lightly dropped, my knees bending on contact before I sprung forward and loped after them.
I had wanted to save my first time for after graduation, like Gina. But I suppose I had to practice on something more formidable than neighbourhood cats at some point.
It’s time they learned how ill the wind can blow. | English | NL | a3111d3c866559f04a969fc3e91e8a922567371ec67f11d78da234e95a78280d |
After eating an entire packet of Nerds, two packets of popping candy, and spending a whopping four minutes on the internet, I’ve discovered the following about Halloween and its origins…
This tradition dates back to Britain when a 3 year old boy named Sam Hain decided that he hated eating his vegetables, in particular turnips, and took his revenge by removing the insides and carving them with angry faces. The vegetables were ruined so his mother gave them to the pigs and she allowed him to have his meat and potatoes in peace. This became a ritual each Autumn when other children in his village heard of his shenanigans, Autumn being the best time for root vegetables and the best time to refuse them. Sam did try defacing a sprout it is told but he didn’t get far.
This was also introduced by a boy, a descendant of Sam Hain named Hal Owen in 1832. He decided that like his great grandfather, given that once a year he could go without eating his vegetables, he would replace them with candy. Of course in those days you didn’t get the variety of candy you can today but with so many cauldrons in the village he was able to melt sugar and add his favourite cow-cream to make his version of butterscotch candy with the help of his friend Milton Hershey. When a local busy body who called himself a reporter published his so-called Penny Press, like reporters of today, he misspelled Hal’s name as Hall oween!
This ritual is linked to a very sad occasion when Hal turned 10. He decided that in addition to hating vegetables he also hated people. Hal poisoned the people in his village with his handmade candy and he then took his mother’s carving knife and carved human faces on all the pumpkins. He then carved pumpkin shapes on the dead villagers’ faces. When the remaining villagers found out who was behind these mass murders they hunted him down. He was able to escape by dressing in his late mother’s outfit of a long black dress and pointy hat. There is a legend started by a storytelling carpenter that he is still around today, his mum’s old clothes having been replaced over the years by a workman’s overall and an inside-out mask of William Shatner.
So the next time you feel the need to put on a costume, eat candy or carve a pumpkin, remember the completely insane Hal Owen to whom you owe all of this annual madness. | English | NL | 789af37b490feac70a9f6c2c61dcffdade82de03189673e888ebb4a25034a6ad |
Lace and shawl warehouse, Wollaton Road, Beeston, Nottinghamshire
This lace and shawl factory warehouse was built in 1892. It was built by J Huckerby for F Wilkinson. Francis (or "Frank") Wilkinson (1846-1897) pioneered the making of shawls on machines. The shawl trade had already been established for around 20 years when he moved here. However his fine textiles won such a reputation for novelty and elegance that he was able to prosper in Britain and overseas. | English | NL | 003aabf99c0e34836242a18cd5d63870f348df07775688ebd1440d615ced4175 |
The year was 1428. A large procession approached the Church of St. Mary in the town of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, England. A number of senior clerics including several bishops were there, as were the lord sheriff of the county, lawyers, and several high-ranking lords and ladies. This was already an unusual assembly, but what made it disturbing was the presence of gravediggers and an executioner. A large group of townspeople followed.
The procession entered the church through the main doors and then turned in to the chancel, where someone pointed out an inscription on a flagstone. The gravediggers removed the flagstone, then prepared to exhume the coffin that had lain undisturbed for more than 40 years.
After some time they lifted up the coffin, proceeded up the nave, and then manhandled the casket through a small side door. The procession moved solemnly down the road to a field of execution that was close to the River Swift. Bundles of dry sticks had been arranged around a stake, to which a chain was attached at shoulder height. The coffin was opened and the body inside was jerked upright by the executioner and chained to the stake. The coffin itself was smashed to pieces and added to the dry wood.
The bishop of Lincoln stepped forward and solemnly cursed the partly mummified corpse as the pyre was ignited, commending the dead man’s soul to the devil for the crime of heresy. When all had been consumed, the ashes were scraped up and thrown into the nearby river so that no trace of the man remained to be revered by his admirers.
The man was John Wycliffe, and his “heresy” had been the translation and dissemination of the first complete Bible in English. However, it was because of the effect that reading the Bible had on people’s lives, and the danger this posed to the established church, that the penalty of burning for the act of heresy had been introduced. Later, during the Inquisition, the first question that was often asked of a suspected heretic was “Have you read the Bible in your own language?”
Today people all over the world can read their own Bibles in their own languages, and they take their easy access to it for granted. But for more than 1,000 years the Bible was generally available only in Latin and thus mostly unavailable to the common people in any of their vernaculars. The result was that the vast majority were utterly oblivious to what the Bible taught.
The Word Gets Out
The rapid spread of Bibles in many European languages began shortly before the Protestant Reformation. Among them, of course, was the English-language Bible.
Wycliffe had been instrumental in kindling a desire for the unadulterated Word of God in English, and he had become a figurehead for its spread in the latter third of the 14th century. Yet for this he was hated—condemned as next to the devil himself in wickedness. His translation was seen as a direct attack on the church. A second objection, given at least in part to cloak the first, was that popular access to a vernacular Bible would lead to heretical misunderstandings. It was believed that Scripture was given to, and could be understood by, only the learned or the clergy, and that Scripture was dangerous and seditious in the hands of the common man. The large numbers of hand-copied Wycliffite Bibles, whole or partial, that began to circulate therefore elicited a rigorous and often violent reaction from the English state and clergy, who were controlled by the church at Rome.
It was believed that Scripture was dangerous and seditious in the hands of the common man.
Though Wycliffe had lit a fire that smoldered underground and could not be extinguished in spite of all the persecution, England had to wait another 120 years for the Bible to become available to all. During that period, several factors worked together to lay the groundwork for change.
Around 1450, Johannes Gutenberg invented a movable-type printing press, facilitating the mass production of works that had previously been laboriously hand-copied. This improved printing method enabled the rapid communication of ideas and information—for example, in 1517, when Martin Luther presented his 95 theses as an appeal to end church corruption, reputedly fastening them to the door of the chapel of Wittenberg Castle in Germany. Thanks to the printing press, copies of his theses were circulated far and wide, so that what might otherwise have been nothing more than a local issue became a widespread public controversy.
Mass printing was quickly put to use in publishing the Bible in a number of vernacular versions, including Luther’s German translation, thereby feeding a growing discontent with the Roman church and various of its teachings and practices.
2) The Protestant Reformation
The Reformation, the unexpected outcome of Luther’s opposition to church corruption, was accidentally born from an attempt to reform the Roman Catholic Church from within. Luther, an Augustinian monk, later often protested that he hadn’t intended the results, but his actions, coupled with the invention of printing, nevertheless marked a turning point in church history. It broke the grip of the Roman church over religious ideas and created an environment in which diversity of ideas, including those about the truth of God and His Word, could flourish.
The Reformation, like Gutenberg’s printing press, became a major force in the mass publication of Bibles in European languages.
3) Erasmus's Translation
Another significant event at the time was the publication of a Latin New Testament in 1516 by the most eminent scholar of the day, the Dutchman Desiderius Erasmus. The work was remarkable in that Erasmus’s new Latin translation was published side-by-side with a Greek New Testament. Prior to the Renaissance, Greek had not been widely taught in the universities of Western Europe. Now, with the help of newly published Greek grammars and lexicons, scholars, all of whom spoke Latin, were able to translate the New Testament from the original Greek into various European languages. Previous translations had always been from Latin.
Erasmus’s New Testament underwent several revisions as the scholar gained access to better Greek manuscripts, compelling him to update the Greek text and correct the resultant errors in his Latin translation. With or without errors, however, his parallel New Testament proved immensely popular both during his lifetime and after his death in 1536.
Erasmus had actually dedicated his New Testament translation to Pope Leo XI, who commended him for it. Little did the pontiff realize that the translator’s work would prove instrumental in making the Bible accessible to the common people.
4) William Tyndale
Tyndale’s life’s mission was the translation of the Bible from its original languages of Greek and Hebrew into English so that the common man could read it freely. His work was the major reference point for most of the English translations that followed for a century after his death in 1536, including the King James Version.
Like Wycliffe, Tyndale was burned as a heretic, having translated the entire New Testament and part of the Old. His last words as he bravely faced death were “Lord, open the King of England’s eyes!”
5) Henry VIII's Battle With Rome
Henry VIII (1491–1547), the king of whom Tyndale spoke, was driven by a desire to father a male heir. His break with Rome (from 1532) over his divorce and remarriage led to the dissolution of monasteries and the wholesale seizure of church lands. It also broke the power of the church in England. Henry then set himself up as the head of a new institution—the Church of England.
Having the Bible in English was seen as a useful and powerful political counter to the religious influence of Rome.
Before long, having the Bible in English was seen as a useful and powerful political counter to the religious influence of Rome. So Henry’s new chancellor, Thomas Cromwell, who had drafted the legislation that made the Church of England separate from Rome, began to maneuver for this.
The distinction of producing the first complete printed English-language Bible (1535) goes to Miles Coverdale. Not knowing Greek or Hebrew, Coverdale relied on Tyndale’s translation for the New Testament. For the Old Testament, he used what Tyndale had completed and added to it translations from Luther’s German Bible and certain Latin versions. Ironically the first edition was coming off the presses (probably in Germany) while Tyndale was languishing in prison.
John Rogers, who seems to have worked for a short time with Coverdale assisting Tyndale in his translation work, is thought to have rescued much of Tyndale’s Old Testament after the latter’s betrayal and arrest. Rogers then produced another version based on Tyndale’s. What was lacking of the Old Testament was made up with Coverdale’s translation. Because Tyndale had been branded a heretic, his name could not be mentioned, so it was replaced by “Thomas Matthew” (after two of Christ’s disciples). Fifteen hundred copies of the “Matthew’s Bible” sold out quickly in England in 1537.
So within a year of Tyndale’s death a second Bible in English was circulating in Britain. To complete the irony, this Bible, two thirds of which was Tyndale’s translation, was approved by King Henry. The title page stated, “Set forth with the king’s most gracious license.” Only a subsequent edition of Coverdale’s Bible (1537) shares the honor of having been licensed by an English monarch. (The King James Version, known in later editions as the Authorized Version, was commissioned but never authorized by James I. Only the Great Bible of 1540, a revision of Matthew’s Bible produced under King Henry’s authority, was actually authorized, as distinct from licensed, by an English monarch).
God may or may not have opened the king of England’s eyes, but the king’s infidelity and desire to perpetuate his dynasty at any cost led to something far beyond Tyndale’s hopes. A literal flood of Bible translations and editions followed those printed in King Henry’s reign, the most well-known being the Geneva Bible (1560) and the 1611 King James Version.
The king's infidelity and desire to perpetuate his dynasty at any cost led to something far beyond Tyndale's hopes.
6) The Developing English Languish
By the early 16th century, the English language was ripe for the genius of Tyndale, who honed it to a new level of expressiveness and cohesiveness through his translation of the New Testament. It has been said that he didn’t just translate into English, he transformed English. He set a new standard for the language—part of the basis on which later literary giants such as William Shakespeare, Edmund Spenser and John Milton would build. Tyndale’s achievement was similar to the better-known contribution Luther made to the development of the German language.
It seems that English was destined to become a lingua franca. And the King James translation of 1611, the work of scholarly committees who leaned heavily on Tyndale’s work, also set a standard and came to be seen as a monument to a language whose time had come. It became a point of reference at a time when the English-speaking nations were beginning their journey to great power.
7) The Bible Itself
The greatest force for change was the impact of the Bible itself on the minds and convictions of those whose lives it touched. What Tyndale had wanted, as he once famously said, was that every boy who drove a plough would know his Bible. That was really the thrust of his dying prayer. There is little doubt that he would have seen the amazing transformation in the fortunes of the English-language Bible—the initial trickle of Bibles becoming a torrent—as a fulfillment of his lifelong dream.
But Was It Enough?
The combined effect of the seven historic factors discussed above created a unique transformation. A prominent English historian, Patrick Collinson, notes: “England, which at the beginning of the sixteenth century seems to have been one of the most Catholic countries in Europe, became, by the seventeenth century, the most virulently anti-Catholic.”
Perhaps this can be attributed at least in part to the fact that their newly acquired access to Scripture allowed people to appreciate the yawning gap between biblical standards of conduct and those embraced by the prevailing church. The Bible also exposed or held up to scrutiny many of the superstitions and false notions that had masqueraded as truth or science.
Over time, the Bible and an awareness of its laws and principles found its way into the constitutions, institutions and culture of modern English-speaking peoples. Unlike many European nations, which generally adopted the Roman model, many British and American conventions trace their origins, in large part, to the Bible.
Even so, most of the people who brought the vernacular English Bible to us never fully subjected themselves to its authority either. Traditional Christianity of various stripes continued to hold on to and even build on some of the errors that had found their way into the church over the centuries. So while many English-speaking nations were founded to a great extent on biblical principles and laws, those foundations were nevertheless compromised. The eventual result has been that the mores of and even the laws now being passed by our English-speaking Western nations, often supported by people who consider themselves Christian, are in flagrant opposition to the Book that was for a time revered by many as the authoritative reference source for moral standards and conduct.
Perhaps some things haven’t changed much in the past 2,000 years. The Jews in Christ’s day believed they were the chosen people, the people of the Book. And in part they were. But many of their leaders were hung up on customs, power, position and prestige. They were, in effect, some of the most tenacious opponents of the truth while claiming to be its greatest protagonists (see Matthew 23). They and many of their forefathers stopped at nothing in their resistance to the unadulterated message of God’s Word (Acts 7:51–54).
Today there are those who similarly prefer to look to human authority for comfortable standards of conduct and systems of belief. But the Bible is a book that makes claims on all men and women, regardless of nationality, language or station in life. It is a book that claims to be the very handbook that their maker, God, caused to be written as an authoritative guide for conduct in all its aspects. Maybe it was inevitable that such a claim to authority would not long remain unchallenged.
From numerous directions—now predominantly secular and humanistic—the “book of books” has again come under sustained and vehement attack. Both the credibility and the historical influence of the Bible are marginalized or even openly attacked by those who see human reasoning as the only rational guide in life.
And so the Bible continues to be viewed in some circles as a most dangerous book. | English | NL | ef9f43f53c9ec42d60c1bba1f74e1d4ba54fbbe03037f6c10188b4cd48d3b03f |
MONTAGUE JOHN DRUITT
WAS THIS MAN JACK THE RIPPER?
MACNAGHTEN’S FAVOURED SUSPECT
Montague John Druitt was a barrister and a special pleader who also worked as an assistant schoolmaster at Mr. George Valentines boarding School in Eliot Place Blackheath from 1881 until November 1888 when, for reasons unknown, he was suddenly dismissed. His body was found floating in the Thames at Chiswick on December 31st 1888. Stones in his pockets had ensured that his body stayed on the bed of the Thames for several weeks and the jury’s returned a verdict of suicide by drowning “whilst of unsound mind.”
His name would, doubtless, have been long forgotten were it not for the timing of his suicide, which probably took place at the end of November 1888 – three weeks after what Melville Macnaghten believed was the last Jack the Ripper murder, that of Mary Kelly on the 9th November 1888. Montague John Druitt’s suicide led Macnaghten to favour him as the likeliest contender for the mantle of Jack the Ripper and thus the name of this, otherwise unknown, barrister/school teacher has achieved a posthumous notoriety high up on the list of suspects. But was he really Jack the Ripper?
A charge sometimes leveled against Macnaghten is that he wasn’t even in the police force in 1888 so therefore wasn’t around at the time of the murders to know what went on in the investigation. This is complete nonsense! With hindsight we might be able to say that the murders had ended by the time he joined the police, but at the time they didn’t know and the investigation was still on-going when he joined. Therefore, he would have been privy to how the investigation had been handled and how the investigation was then handled into its closing stages.
However, it should also be remembered that the memoranda contains Macnaghten’s personal opinions not the official view and not a definitive solution. The document is therefore a reflection of what he believed about the murderer and it is quite emphatic about the Ripper’s probable fate:-
It will be noted that the fury of the mutilations increased in each case, and, seemingly, the appetite only became sharpened by indulgence. It seems, then, highly improbable that the murderer would have suddenly stopped in November ’88…A much more rational theory is that the murderer’s brain gave way altogether after his awful glut in Miller’s Court, and that he immediately committed suicide, or, as a possible alternative, was found to be so hopelessly mad by his relations, that he was by them confined in some asylum.
So Macnaghten’s belief was that that the killer wouldn’t have been able to carry on after Miller’s Court – Mary Kelly was murdered in her room at Miller’s Court of Dorset Street – and that his mind must have given way. That therefore leaves two options. Either the killer committed suicide, or the killer was confined in an asylum.
There can be little doubt that from September 1888 the police were monitoring asylum admissions and suicides as part of their hunt for Jack the Ripper. When they concluded, probably in 1892, that the murders had ended they would have looked again at these records to see if they held any clues as to what had become of the killer. Given Macnaghten’s aforementioned beliefs three names might well have jumped out at him as dovetailing nicely into his theory.
So when Melville Macnaghten wrote the memoranda he mentions the cases of 3 men “anyone of whom” was more likely than Cutbush to have committed this series of murders. Those men were, according to Macnaghten:-
1) A Mr M. J. Druitt, said to be a doctor & of good family — who disappeared at the time of the Miller’s Court murder, & whose body (which was said to have been upwards of a month in the water) was found in the Thames on 31st December — or about 7 weeks after that murder. He was sexually insane and from private information I have little doubt but that his own family believed him to have been the murderer.
(2) Kosminski — a Polish Jew — & resident in Whitechapel. This man became insane owing to many years indulgence in solitary vices. He had a great hatred of women, specially of the prostitute class, & had strong homicidal tendencies: he was removed to a lunatic asylum about March 1889. There were many circumstances connected with this man which made him a strong ‘suspect’.
(3) Michael Ostrog, a Russian doctor, and a convict, who was subsequently detained in a lunatic asylum as a homicidal maniac. This man’s antecedents were of the worst possible type, and his whereabouts at the time of the murders could never be ascertained.
This statement has often been misinterpreted as Macnaghten naming the police’s three main suspects. But he doesn’t say that he simply says that they were just more likely than Cutbush to have been the killer.
The first name on the list appears to have been Macnaghten’s own favoured suspect, Montague John Druitt, a barrister/school teacher who committed suicide at the end of November 1888.
However, Druitt is only actually viable as a suspect if one agrees with Macnaghten that there were only five victims and that Mary Kelly was the last. The Whitechapel Murders file actually has several other possible victims on it and if you believe that Alice McKenzie (July 1889) and Frances Coles (February 1891) were victims of Jack the Ripper, then Druitt is exonerated of any involvement in the crimes.
So why did Macnaghten suspect Druitt and what proof did he have that he was the Ripper? Let’s take a closer look at his memoranda.
There are two versions of the memoranda, a private version and a Scotland Yard version. The private version is a little more revealing about Macnaghten’s own opinions.
In the private version he writes:
Mr. M.J. Druitt a doctor of about 41 years of age & of fairly good family, who disappeared at the time of the Miller’s Court murder, and whose body was found floating in the Thames on 31st December: i.e. 7 weeks after the said murder. The body was said to have been in the water for a month, or more – on it was found a season ticket between Blackheath and London. From private information I have little doubt but that his own family suspected this man of being the Whitechapel murderer, it was alleged that he was sexually insane.
The Scotland Yard version read:
A Mr. M. J. Druitt, said to be a doctor & of good family, who disappeared at the time of the Miller’s Court murder, & whose body (which was said to have been upwards of a month in the water) was found in the Thames on 31st. Decr., or about 7 weeks after that murder. He was sexually insane and from private inf. I have little doubt but that his own family believed him to have been the murderer.
Both versions show that Macnaghten didn’t know a great deal about Druitt as he does make some very fundamental errors about him.
This is the account of Druitt’s inquest from the Acton, Chiswick, and Turnham Green Gazette of January 5, 1889:
“William H. Druitt said he lived at Bournemouth, and that he was a solicitor. The deceased was his brother, who was 31 last birthday. He was a barrister-at-law, and an assistant master in a school at Blackheath. He had stayed with witness at Bournemouth for a night towards the end of October. Witness heard from a friend on the 11th of December that deceased had not been heard of at his chambers for more than a week. Witness then went to London to make inquiries, and at Blackheath he found that deceased had got into serious trouble at the school, and had been dismissed. That was on the 30th of December. Witness had deceased’s things searched where he resided, and found a paper addressed to him (produced). The Coroner read the letter, which was to this effect: – “Since Friday I felt I was going to be like mother, and the best thing for me was to die.” Witness, continuing, said deceased had never made any attempt on his life before. His mother became insane in July last. He had no other relative.”
So when Macnaghten wrote his memoranda he got some things right about Druitt, but he also made some fundamental mistakes about him.
WHAT HE GOT RIGHT.
His name – M J Druitt
The date his body was discovered – December 31st 1888.
The place his body was found and means of death – found drowned in the River Thames.
That he was from a “good family” – they were doctors and lawyers.
A season ticket between Blackheath and London was found on his body.
WHAT HE GOT WRONG.
The timing of when Druitt disappeared. His mind most certainly didn’t give way after the Miller’s Court murder. Indeed he carried on with his duties at Valentines School Blackheath up until his dismissal on 30th November. He was also pursuing his duties as a barrister and on 19th November he was present at a board meeting of his cricket club. So his brain had most certainly not given way altogether in the aftermath of Mary Kelly’s murder. Since he was dismissed from the school on 30th November, a Friday, it seems likely that his suicide came about as a result of that.
His age. Druitt was 31 not 41.
His occupation. Druitt was a school master and a Barrister, not a doctor.
In addition, Macnaghten made two assertions about Druitt that we can never now hope to establish the veracity of but both of which are important in the possible case against him. These assertions were:
That he was sexually insane
That his own family believed him to have been the murderer.
The sexually insane accusation is probably a reference to Druitt’s apparent homosexuality, which in itself is hardly proof of him being Jack the Ripper. Indeed, it would probably suggest that he wasn’t Jack the Ripper.
As for Druitt’s family suspecting him of being Jack the Ripper, it should be noted that Macnaghten doesn’t say that they had proof that he was but rather that they suspected him. It does not necessarily follow that they were correct in their suspicion.
Today it is almost impossible for us to prove that his family actually did have suspicions about him. The exact quote from Swanson concerning this issue is “from private information I have little doubt that his family believed him to be the ripper…” If you analyze that quote Macnaghten appears to be saying that it wasn’t Druitt’s family who told him of their suspicions but rather someone outside the family. It suggests that it was hearsay, perhaps passed on by someone close to the family. Of course we can’t say this for certain as we don’t know what that private information was.
The biggest objection to Macnaghten’s suspect must be that Inspector Abberline, the detective who led the on the ground hunt for Jack the Ripper in the area in 1888, most certainly didn’t think he could have been the Ripper. In an interview with the Pall Mall Gazette in 1903, he is quoted as saying:
“I know all about that story. But what does it amount to? Simply this. Soon after the last murder in Whitechapel the body of a young doctor was found in the Thames, but there is absolutely nothing beyond the fact that he was found at that time to incriminate him. A report was made to the Home Office about the matter, but that it was ‘considered final and conclusive’ is going altogether beyond the truth.
Finally, there is nothing that we know about Druitt that suggests that he ever visited Whitechapel nor that he had any knowledge of Whitechapel.
The case against him depends on Macnaghten’s assertion that he had more information about Druitt than he wanted to reveal – information he claimed he had destroyed so as not to cause an uproar.
My own inclination is to feel somewhat sorry for Montague John Druitt. I think that, had he waited another year, or perhaps even another month, before committing suicide, he would never have been suspected of the crimes. But his suicide provided a convenient scapegoat for the police and some crime historians to hang the mantle of Jack the Ripper on. There can be no doubt that Montague John Druitt had his demons to contend with, but the murder of five prostitutes in the East End of London was most certainly not one of them. | English | NL | 8f38c927bc7267ba9310427f626abbf44a790709639a5b253419a84769c94127 |
||September 24, 2019
José de la Luz Sáenz (1888–1953)—or Luz—believed in fighting for what was right. Although he was born in the United States, he and his family experienced prejudice because of their Mexican heritage. When World War I broke out, Luz volunteered to join the fight. Because of his ability to quickly learn languages, he became part of the Intelligence Office in Europe. However, despite his hard work and intellect, Luz often didn’t receive credit for his contributions. Upon his return to the US, he joined other Mexican-Americans whom he had met in the army to fight for equality. His contribution, along with others, ultimately led to the creation of the League of United Latin American Citizens (LULAC), which is the oldest Latino civil-rights organization.
Soldier for Equality is based in part on Luz’s diary during the war. | English | NL | 3ba9acca9b040c7ee330eef77105184f559df83ffcc64a34ebf8a03694e818fd |
Tuesday, December 19
Read: Luke 2:25-29
What do we learn about Simeon? First, I believe he was a man of character. He is called righteous and devout. He was righteous towards people and devout in religious duties. Luke noticed these character qualities.
Second, he was a man with a calling. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel. Israel had suffered great discouragement. They were exiled to a foreign land, brought back to a land that was in shambles, with God silent for four hundred years. They needed God’s encouragement or consolation, that their sins were forgiven and their weakness would again be made strong. God sent this consolation through his Messiah (Isa. 40:1-2) to Simeon.
Third, Simeon was a man of God’s choice – the Holy Spirit was upon him. God told Simeon that he would see this Messiah before he died, so he waited. Finally, his waiting was fulfilled. The Spirit led him directly to Mary and Joseph, and he rejoiced in this answer to prayer.
Consider: Jesus is the answer – the one who each person is waiting for. How has Jesus fulfilled your hope? What do you need to continue to wait on Him? | English | NL | 5d350b807972987958510abdefd024539336230769f0f396503a49a5013dae24 |
Donald Hall passed away at Eagle Pond Farm in Wilmot this weekend. Though not from the Granite State originally, the one-time U.S. Poet Laureate is widely accepted as a New Hampshire institution. Hall was prolific in writing both verse and prose, and over the years, NHPR spoke to him about his work again and again.
Here's a selection of our favorite conversations with Hall from the NHPR Archives:
In 1989, Donald Hall headlined "An Evening of Poetry," a co-production between NHPR (then known as WEVO) and the NH Writer's Project with a blockbuster line-up of New Hampshire poets: Maxine Kumin, who had recently served as the poetry consultant for the Library of Congress, a position that would eventually be re-branded as U.S. poet Laureate; his wife and future N.H. Poet Laureate, Jane Kenyon; and Charles Simic, another future U.S. Poet Laureate. Byron Champlin introduced the event which was recorded on the the day of the passing of another U.S. Poet Laurete, Robert Penn Warren.
Hall then read a number of poems including "The Prophecy" from his book The One Day, a National Book Critics Circle award winner.
A few years later, Kenyon was diagnosed and with leukemia and died with within months. Her death inspired many of Hall's works thereafter, several of which he spoke of with various NHPR hosts over the years.
Hall appeared on NHPR's The Front Porch no fewer than four times. In an interview with host John Walters in 2002, he discussed The Painted Bed, a collection of new poems about Kenyon, as well as poems about new life and new relationships.
In 2005, Hall returned to The Front Porch to discuss The Best Day The Worst Day, a memoir that Hall wrote about his 23-year marriage to Kenyon. He acknowledged that his poems since her death focused more on her illness and his own rage about her death, he said, "in human life, the miserable parts stand out more than the happiest, blissful, most joyful parts. This is an unfortunate concomitant of being human."
And while the memoir addresses the wild ups and downs of the cancer treatments, he does attempt to remember her life as well, including their first meeting and courtship.
The Front Porch again welcomed the poet to the program in 2006 to chat about his book White Apples and the Taste of Stone, a selection of poems that span a much broader spectrum of subjects, including the death of his father and Hall's Wilmot farm, which he purchased from his grandparents.
Hall chatted with host Shay Zeller about how his poetry has changed over his 60-year career.
On 14 June, 2006, Hall woke up to find his face on the cover of the New York Times with the news that the Library of Congress had selected him as U.S. Poet Laureate. He swung through our studios again to speak for a few minutes with NHPR's Front Porch host Zeller about the surprise honor and his charge as Poet Laureate.
In the fall of 2006, NHPR's The Exchange broadcast a special series called "Granite State Stories" exploring our state through the lens of five books by New Hampshire authors. One of these was Donald Hall, and the tome that focused that day's discussion was his book of essays Here at Eagle Pond, which captures the essence of the state and its residents, probing the forces that make us what we are from the weather to politics and our fierce independence.
In 2016, NHPR launched the podcast 10 Minute Writer's Workshop to quiz writers about the process of putting pen to paper. It seemed only natural to check in with one of the state's favorite writers about his strategies around writing.
Hall sat down with host Virginia Prescott at his famous farm in Wilmot for that conversation.
Last fall, Hall attended NHPR's ceremony bestowing the Hall-Kenyon Prize in American Poetry to Frank Bidart, who later was also awarded with the Pulitzer Prize for poetry.
NOTE: The Hall - Kenyon Prize in American Poetry fund is held at New Hampshire Public Radio. On the event of his passing, Hall suggested that in lieu of flowers, donations in his memory be made to the Hall - Kenyon Prize. Should you wish to make a gift, your donation will support this annual award honoring both established and emerging poets. Click here to donate.
The Hall – Kenyon Prize in American Poetry honors the contributions of the late Donald Hall, former Poet Laureate of the United States, and the late Jane Kenyon, former Poet Laureate of New Hampshire. The married poets lived and write together for nearly 20 years at Eagle Pond Farm – Hall’s ancestral home in Wilmot, New Hampshire. | English | NL | 0a87066fef62145fe99fcb577c10d193665859507de29d9d9eb7814392c6d583 |
Tesla was born to Serbian parents in what is now Croatia, but he emigrated to the U.S. as a young man, where he eventually became a naturalized citizen. Besides Edison, who later became his bitter rival, Tesla often worked with inventor George Westinghouse. In 1893, the pair demonstrated their advances in lighting and motors in the “White City” at the Chicago World’s Fair. In 1895, Tesla and Westinghouse developed the world’s first hydroelectric power plant, at Niagara Falls.
Here are 10 unusual facts about Nikola Tesla that you may not have known:
Tesla was born during a lightning storm
Quite fortuitously, Tesla was born during a particularly violent lightning storm. Reading this as a bad omen, the midwife asserted that this meant Tesla would be a “child of darkness.” Tesla’s mother, probably affronted by this woman’s assertion, immediately replied: “No. He will be a child of light.”
Tesla was an environmentalist
Tesla was very concerned about the fact that we were using up the Earth’s resources too quickly, and he wanted to make sure that we were using nonfossil, renewable fuels.
So Tesla researched ways to harvest the natural energy in the ground and in the sky. He created artificial lightning in his lab, and probed electrical potential differences in the Earth and across tall objects.
J. P. Morgan reportedly took exception to that line of research, arguing that he wasn’t interested in funding a power source that he couldn’t meter.
He spoke 8 languages
No doubt hastened by his eidetic—commonly known as photographic—memory, Tesla was fluent in 8 different languages: Serbo-Croatian, English, Czech, German, French, Hungarian, Italian and Latin. Linguists refer to such a person as a “hyper polyglot”, or someone who can speak more than six languages with great proficiency.
He rarely slept
Tesla claimed to only sleep two hours per night, and was prone to spending two days or more in his laboratory without sleeping at all. Kenneth Swezey, one of the inventor’s friends, confirmed Tesla’s claims. Swezey once recounted a time when Tesla phoned him at 3 a.m.: “I was sleeping in my room like one dead … Suddenly, the telephone ring awakened me … Tesla spoke animatedly, with pauses, as he … worked out a problem, comparing one theory to another, commenting; and when he felt he had arrived at the solution, he suddenly closed the telephone.”
He had a photographic memory
Possessing the ability to read books and periodicals while simultaneously committing them to memory served Tesla well; he used all the information he acquired as an internal library, available at his beck and call. As a result, Tesla rarely made drawings of his inventions, but worked from a picture or a memory in his head.
He had a “strange” relationship with pigeons
While Tesla appears to have been unable to foster feelings for humans and has thus been described as asocial, perhaps his aversion to people had less to do with his lack of emotion and more to do with the fact that they lacked feathers. Like many people do, Tesla would feed the populous gray colored birds at the park. Even after he was too ill to do it himself, he hired others to do it for him. He would often bring sick or injured pigeons back to the hotel where he lived in his later years, and nurse them back to health. He grew especially fond of one little bird, and said this about her; “I loved that pigeon as a man loves a woman, and she loved me. As long as I had her, there was a purpose to my life.”
He envisioned the modern day smartphone – in 1909
Attempting to make good on his idea to craft a handheld device that could receive stock quotes and telegram messages via encoded and broadcasted frequencies, Tesla went on to design the very first wireless transmission tower and had it erected in Long Island New York, along with a laboratory facility. Wardenclyffe Tower, so named after the investor, James S. Warden, was meant for trans-Atlantic wireless telephony and broadcasting, but it was never fully functional, and was therefore demolished in 1917.
Claimed that free energy for all is possible
Tesla was fascinated by radiant energy and its free energy possibilities. He called Crooke’s radiometer, a device which has vanes that spin in a vacuum when exposed to radiant energy “a beautiful invention.” He believed that it would become possible to harness energy directly by “connecting to the very wheel-work of nature.” Tesla announced a plan for a “cosmic-ray motor” when asked if it was more powerful than the Crooke’s radiometer, he answered, “thousands of times more powerful.”
In 1901 Tesla believed that neutron particles were responsible for all radioactive reactions. Radiant matter is in tune with these neutron particles. Radiant matter is simply a re-transmitter of energy from one state to another.
Tesla’s free-energy concept was patented in 1901 as an “Apparatus for the Utilization of Radiant Energy.” The patent refers to “the sun, as well as other sources of radiant energy, like cosmic rays,” that the device works at night is explained in terms of the night-time availability of cosmic rays. Tesla also refers to the ground as “a vast reservoir of negative electricity.”
Tesla died a broke humanitarian
Tesla did what he did for the betterment of humanity, to help people have a better quality of life. He never seemed to be interested in monetary gain, although a possible downside of that was he never seemed to have enough money to do what he needed to do.
Tesla had famous friends, including Mark Twain and French actress Sarah Bernhardt, but he struggled financially. Edison and Westinghouse were much more successful businessmen, which partly explains the strength of their legacies.
Many of his inventions remain classified
Upon his death, most of Tesla’s belongings were taken by the Office of Alien Property – even though he was legal citizen of the United States. And by “most”, we mean what has been described as a “railroad boxcar” full of Tesla’s materials. After a time, some items were released to his family, while others ended up in the Tesla museum, located in Belgrade, Serbia (where his ashes are also kept). Some of Tesla’s documents and papers still remain classified, and while people have requested items via the Freedom of Information Act, those items are heavily redacted before their release. As a result, people tend to wonder what else Nikola Tesla had up his sleeve—like a device that would lead to free energy— before his death. | English | NL | 07c8688d38749758ebd299b4afcdf3dd9ca4c91a0aea7a629df25aec6c3ed831 |
That Mystery Man
The top of the mountain looked like a colossal saint wreathed in silk as it pointed the way to heaven. As we stood at the base, I could imagine what a spectacular view it must be from there. That night we all made plans to climb to the top when the weather permitted us to do so.
On a beautiful morning when mother sun was making her grand appearance and scattering her rays upon the meadows, she smiled at us to let us know that the path was clear for our ascent to the summit. We accepted the invitation and set out that same morning. When we were seven eights of the way to the top of the mountain, we were exhausted and wondered if we should keep going of turn back. We all sat down and mulled over the situation. Most of us were in favor of turning back.
Just then an elderly gentleman approached us. He had a warming smile that lit up his entire face. We asked him if he wanted to join us for a chat. We told him about our dilemma that we got ourselves into. He thought it was amusing but sympathized with us and said that he had seen many more predicaments worse than ours.
He said that if we kept going that he would be with us so we could reach the summit. He told us not to lose faith, because he would be there with us the whole way. He also told us he could see the enthusiasm in our hearts when we first laid our eyes on the mountain last Tuesday morning. I thought to myself, “How could this man have seen us, especially since we just met him?” He then told us, “You don’t know the power that you have. That sacred inborn will that lies deep within your spirit, surfaces when summoned by your enthusiasm. That is the way God speaks and responds to us. It would be a shame if you were to give up now.”
Sure enough, we reached the top. I looked over to thank the old man for helping us, but saw nothing but a column of incense spiraling up toward heaven encircling a voice that echoed through the valley below. It kept saying over and over, “Thy will to be done, thy will to be done.”
Who was that mystery man who guided us up the mountain.? | English | NL | 4592eaf4cf4a3591edb89d8a88e4fa1f4721412662968bee914bcde498db5e43 |
About a time for me to do burrens-
Ok so im sorry i have been spamming with gosh darn shitposts-
But here is long waited smut yall have been waiting for :)
Domestic AU cuz I need that
Also, Phillip is 9, Frances is 11 and Theo is 6
Ok enjoy :D
Y am so excited holy f u c k
"Im homee!" Aaron whined from doorway, taking off his sweat jacket.
"Daddy!!!" Theodosia ran to him, in her small dress and french braids.
Aaron smiled and looked at her.
"Papa made me braids! Phillip and Frances were making me color book!" Theo exclaimed.
He smiled brightly and hugged her.
"That is great, honey!" Aaron smiled and picked 6 year old.
(I hate my phone)
Aaron walked into kitchen, which was connected to living room and seen his husband eith tgeir other kids.
"Daddy's home!" John announced.
Phillip and Frances quickly turned their head and gasped as they ran to their dad.
"Dad!" Frances said brightly.
Phillip and Frances hugged him tight as Aaron looked at John, and John looks at him back, completely in love.
(Im sorry but-, He looks at me, I loOK AT HIM, AND HE LOOKS AT ME, AND I LOOK AT H I M)
"Hello handsome." John flirted, walked to him and pecked his lips.
"Ewwwww, Theo lets go! We shall paint Phillip's nails." Frances winked as Phillip whined but giggled.
"YES!" Theo exclaimed, excitedly as Aaron placed her down, and their children soon in Frances bedroom.
John giggled and rolled his eyes, as he pressed himself onto Aaron, sighed and kissed his neck woobly.
Aaron hugged him back, letting himself relaxed.
"How are you, sugar? Kids were killin ya?" Burr sighed, lead himself and his husband on couch.
"Mmmmf" John hummed, and relaxed.
*rlly big time skip cuz im lazy as hecc, btw this is already after dinner n kids r going to sleep cuz it is time to fuk tiem, get tf over it*
"Are kids sleeping?" John asked hushedly as Burr closed the doors, and OOFED lights.
"Yes. Now, lemme cmere, I want you..." He said hushedly.
On second, he was top on John, rubbing his thighs.
John gasped for a bit.
"A...aaron..." He drawled as Aaron leaned in and kissed him slowly, pressing their bodies together.
"P-please... I want you Aaron...dont make me wait- aH!" He gasped as Burr pressed his fingers against his inner thigh.
"Shh...on hand and knees, baby. Hand and knees...." He whispered lowly.
John gulped and quickly went on position.
Burr licked his lips, in hunger, in lust as he took off John's boxers down, earning short gasp.
Aaron smirked and began to rub John's thighs, slowly getting it to his ass cheeks, as he messaged him.
John gasped again but stayed silent, even when Burr actually parted his cheeks and air hit on his swollen hole.
"P-please..." He begged.
Burr smirked and leaned down as his teased his hole with his tongue, swirling and licking it around the hole before dipping in.
John arched his back, and moaned lowly.
He thanked the God that kids were hard sleepers.
"Aa...aarkn please...dont tease...SHIT!" He cursed silently as Aaron was humming, sending vibrations around his hole, through his body.
Soon enough, Aaron pulled it away.
"Need a prep babe?" Aaron asked.
"N..no. I dont need prep. Please, just...put it in already." Hd nuttered, his eyes shiny from tears.
"Someone is desparate." He teased.
John looked at him, clearly annoyed and angry.
"Excuse me, but you would also be desparate for cock! You know that im physicly stronger then you, I can you bend you over, slap your ass and pound into yo-- OH GOD!" John moaned, interrupted as Burr was finnaly pounding into him.
"So what were you saying? You will pound into me, huh babygirl??" Aaron was thrusting so fast, impossible on John of how to focus as he held himself onto bedpost.
"F....fuck you!" He cried out as he was reaching his climax, only for Burr to lean down, to grab his dick and whisper (no homo xDDDD) "Gladly...."
And his hips were going so fast, his hand was doing it faster as his other hand was digging nails into his hip.
"Im close, im close, im close, f u c k!!" John cried out.
"Go for it. Cumm for me!" Burr growled, trapped his dick with fingers ovef his head, as Burr was completely missing out his spot.
"F-f-fuck!! Please!! Im sorry!" John cried out.
"Hmmm better....nws come one!" He grunted, now fucking that throbbing spot as his hand was jerking him off.
"Ah!!!" John cried out as he cummed, Burr giving few more thrusts and he cummed deep in him.
John panted and fell on bed.
"Babe, you good? Did I broke you?" Aaron asked, concerned as he pulled off him, hugged his small lover.
John couldnt form words, he was crying.
"Ohh John..." Burr hugged him and rocked him.
After what seemed like hours, John spoke up.
"Next time, I will fuck you till Heaven gates..." He murrmured, tired and exahusted.
"Babe, you aint talking straight..." Aaron murrmured, sleepily.
"Where have I ever? But seriosly, imma love on your ass real hard next time, so much till you cannot walk for days and we will have to buy you wheelchair." John said, drifting of to sleep.
He received small chuckle.
"I'd like to see you try."
To be continued.
Imma make Burr bottom cuz, i cant process of who shall be bottom nor top.
Ig they switch
Ok hope yall liked this!
U finnaly got burrens yay | English | NL | f8a03f456b113a963a1598f7970e357eafd85a0784b132410bf9ce69473be0ce |
The other day I was struggling with sin and I told God that if tomorrow I committed this sin that I want it to be unforgivable. I did this so I would think twice when I was tempted. In the end I committed this sin, even though I told God not to forgive me this time. Can I still be forgiven now since I did committed the sin anyway?
Since when do people get to tell God what He is or is not able to do? Moses once was frustrated and asked God to remove him from God's book of life: ""Yet now, if You will forgive their sin-but if not, I pray, blot me out of Your book which You have written." And the LORD said to Moses, "Whoever has sinned against Me, I will blot him out of My book"" (Exodus 32:32-33). God's response to Moses is that He makes the rules, not Moses.
You are not to sin because God said sin is wrong. Your request of God was meaningless and did nothing about the actual problem. It might have made you feel like you were working on the sin, but you never addressed the real issues. "These things indeed have an appearance of wisdom in self-imposed religion, false humility, and neglect of the body, but are of no value against the indulgence of the flesh" (Colossians 2:23).
Face the fact that you've sinned and that you have changes to make in your life. Learn what those are from God and start doing them; instead of wallowing in self-condemnation. See: Are You Unforgivable? | English | NL | da79e3ea25f81355ea2d216f4dd678113328808b5637a31979c0fa72f6d76a9f |
*Repost from January before my website crashed!
On the night of January12, 2018 the Heavens opened and Danny Woods entered, with his trademark smile and a peace that most can only wish to experience. Danny began his amazing journey in Atlanta, GA on March 27, 1942, the son of Daniel Woods, Sr. and Julia Dukes Woods. During his formative years, he strengthened his amazing voice and set the foundation for his faith while singing in the church choir. Along the way, he caught the eye of Gladys Knight and developed a friendship that resulted in taking his first step onto a stage and performing during one of her shows.
Possessing a strong desire to share his talents with the world, Danny left Atlanta and headed to Detroit. In Detroit, Danny befriended David Ruffin, later of the Temptations, Clyde Wilson, and Melvin Davis. With the talent this quartet possessed, forming a group was the only logical course. They toured throughout Michigan, earning accolades from all who saw them. It was during this time that Danny also performed with Rare Earth and Aretha Franklin. Danny and David took the next step and moved to New York to find fame. There Danny met his hero, the great Jackie Wilson. While in New York, Danny’s talent wasn’t lost on the greats of the time. Danny performed many times at the Apollo Theater with the likes of The O’Jays, The Spinners, The Stylistics, Manhattans, Wilson Picket, Jackie Wilson, and numerous other entertainers.
As word of his talent spread, his exposure increased and the number of fans skyrocketed. In 1967, when Holland/Dozier/Holland left Motown and established Invictus/Hot Wax record labels, they needed a flagship act with talent to spare and charisma like no other. That’s when they turned to Danny, General Norman Johnson, and Harrison Kennedy to be their premier talent as Chairmen of The Board. During this time, the Chairmen of the Board not only hit the airwaves but the charts as well. With such hits as “Pay to the Piper” and “Give Me Just a Little More Time,” the Chairmen of the Board were featured on Don Cornelius’ “Soul Train.” Riding on the tide of stardom, the members of Chairmen of the Board went on to do solo work with great success. It was during this time that Danny appeared on Dick Clark’s “American Bandstand” and “The Johnny Carson Show.”
In the late 1970’s General Norman Johnson and Danny Woods made the decision to bring their dynamic energy and untouchable talent back to the Chairmen of the Board, and the legions of fans, awards, hits, and successes were boundless. As one of the top entertainers in the Beach Music genre he helped to create, Danny Woods has been inducted into the North Carolina and the South Carolina Music Halls of Fame, both as a member of Chairmen of the Board and as a solo artist. He received awards, accolades and recognition that went far beyond the dreams of the young boy in Atlanta, singing in the church choir.
Astoundingly, through all of the successes Danny enjoyed, he remained as he was in his youth. Above all in his life was his devotion to his Heavenly Father and his faith. He praised his Father for all that he had received in his life and recognized that his talent was a gift from God, a gift he loved to share with others. When not performing or visiting with others, Danny could be found wetting a hook, either on a river bank or on a pier; it never mattered to him as long as he was fishing. He never outgrew his roots. Offstage, he enjoyed the farm life, meeting people, making them smile, and leaving them with the love he had for all, spreading his love of Christ. His stage presence was larger than life, his energy infectious, and his personality endearing. Many called him friend and reached to share a bit of his light.
When Danny went to his Heavenly home, he left behind his devoted wife, Elaine Woods, and his cherished children Cheryl Woods-Weaver, Bryan Mason, Kimberly Pleasant, Micah Woods, Shena Kiper, and Corey Gates. He is also survived by a sister, Patricia Dixon, a brother, Harvey Woods, ten grandchildren, a son in-law and a daughter-in-law and a precious little girl he held close to his heart, Julia. He was preceded in death by both of his parents, his sons Danny and Aaron, and two loving and supportive wives, Alma and Sharon. Danny also left behind many fans and friends, as well as memories, music, and magic that only Danny could produce and that will live on in his many recordings and the hearts of all who knew him. | English | NL | a2fcad6071aafa7c73c5133bb591f719ed55a4a4562dfa0f45c4d9a5959a947e |
useful adjectives in casual speech or when we're pointing to something that is lovely, etc., but in careful writing they don't do much for us; in fact, they sound hollow. He picked it all to pieces, and turned the ruin over and over under his glass; and then he said there appeared to be something the matter with the hair- trigger. It was clear that he was living a life of relative plenty. He trumpeted, for the first and only time.
But the rest of the day it would keep on slowing down and fooling along until all the clocks it had left behind caught up again. I got off, paid him, and entered. Working in partnership with parish, staff, students, parents and a wider community, St Josephs aims to foster the development of spiritual, physical, intellectual and emotional growth so that each member, using their God-given talents, reaches their potential. I said no, it had never needed any repairing. And then down he came, his belly towards me, with a crash that seemed to shake the ground even where I lay.
Things fall apart research essays
Richard the lionheart essays | English | NL | 5495f0dc6ea7bcaad4ce007b7d8bcace52b40ab884565cdd940f0c7ccb9fbdc9 |
Date of Death:
Marital status :
Evans Charles Heyland
2nd Bn. Border Regiment
26 october 1914
Son of Warren Edward and Helen Lloyd Evans, of Henblas, Llangefni, Anglesey.
Ypres Menin Gate Memorial
5 october 1910
20 november 1911
28 august 1914
22 december 1914
16 january 1915
16 february 1915
Gazetted Second Lieutenant to the 1st Bn. Welsh Regiment
He was stationed at Cairo , Cyprus , Chakrata and Agra , India
When war broke out was on his way to Cyprus, where he was to have been maaried at Troodos, the only daughter of Major W.N. Bolton , late Wiltshire Regiment , Commisioner of Kyrenia, but his leave was cancelled and he was recalled to rejoin his Battalion.
Landed in England
Proceeded to France
Killed in action nar Ypres and buried ,with two other brother officers who where killed the same day , in the gardens of Chateau Rosendal
To judge from a letter written shortly before he met his death, he must have had some exciting experiences :
' We have just finished our first eight days - divided between the supports and the firing line.
I had the worst bit of trench to look after with my platoon and did all right, but had a good few casualties , considering the 96 hours I was actually up - two killed and nine wounded.
I made two night expeditions by myself.
My revolver accounted for him all right, as we were only two feet apart.
The trenches are from 30 to 75 feet apart in most places and sometimes closer.
We are now off on a four days' rest which is absolutely ripping.
It is splendid to get out of the noise and to get some proper food and sleep.
I think, if anything, I am rather enjoying this.
Cold feet are the worst part of the show but my men are all such rippers, it makes up for lots.
I hate having them hit, otherwise it is quite cheery.
I had a sing-song in my trench the other evening ,which did not please the Germans.
I sat in a chair, which collapsed, and I went straight to sleep where I lay.
The strain is fairly big up there."
His Commanding Officer , Lieutenant Colonel Marden T.O. wrote :
' I regret most deeply having to inform you of the death on the 16th , in the trenches , of you gallant son Hilary.
As far as we can ascertain, his death was instantaneous from a rifle bullet, but many of his platoon were shot down at the same time, and there was no one in the trench who could give accurate information as to what happened.
He is a great loss to us , as he was such a good soldier and so popular with all ranks.
As you know, probably , he was selected to lead the Second Grenadier platoon, and had behaved so gallantly durng his former turn of duty in the trenches, where he kept the spirits of his whole platoon up by his energy and enterprise, taht I brought his name specially to the notice of the Brigadier.
He crept out of the trenches alone on several occasions and threw bombs into the enemy's trenches.'
He was a keen sportsman and a well-known figure in the hunting field at Montgomeryshire.
He was also an excellent shot.
At Cairo he made a considerable reputation as a polo player, and both in Cyprus and at Agra he was Master of the Hunt.
He was Mentioned in Sir John French's despatches of 31 may 1915. | English | NL | 701ae226d749608d24f1e3b4062d773944cae724b817412e079d7004cf2cb04c |
Arctic exploration has existed for millennia but gained renewed prominence following the onset of the Age of Discovery. These expeditions often ended in failure due to insufficient preparations for the harsh and often brutal conditions. The Northwest Passage was of particular interest to explorers due to its connection between Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, and this often resulted in a number of failed expeditions.
Sir James Clark Ross
One of Britain’s most iconic explorers, Ross was well-known for his exploration of both the Arctic and the Antarctic. He began his life as an explorer at an early age under the tutelage of his uncle Sir John Ross. Accompanying him on a number of voyages in a bid to locate the elusive Northwest Passage, he quickly rose up through the ranks and became something of an expert in polar expeditions. He was most famous for his Antarctic expedition, in which he charted the continent’s coastline. Later in life, he embarked on an unsuccessful expedition to find Sir John Franklin’s lost expedition in the Arctic.
The Norwegian explorer was renowned for being the first man to reach both the North and South Poles. Famous for his Antarctic expeditions, he became engaged in a. Rivalry with British icon Robert Scott in a race to the South Pole, emerging victorious whilst Scott perished on his return home. Additional accomplishments included being the first man to successfully traverse the Northwestern Passage. Amundsen disappeared in a 1928 plane crash in the Barents Sea in response to a distress call.
It has been disputed as to who was the first explorer to reach the North Pole, although this feat has been claimed by the American Robert Peary. Having made several Arctic expeditions in his lifetime, Peary’s most famous occurred in 1909 when he claimed to reach the North Pole. A naval officer and an engineer, he had a fascination with reaching the North Pole from a young age and was one of the first explorers to study Inuit survival techniques to acclimatise to the harsh conditions. Other major feats included reaching the northernmost point of the Western hemisphere. Peary’s claims have divided people, with some taking his word and other dismissing it.
One of Norway’s most iconic explorers, Fritdjof Nansen led a life of significant accomplishment across a number of different fields. An accomplished scientist, contributing to major studies into marine life. He became a major diplomat, playing a significant role in ending the political union between Norway and Sweden before becoming the High Commissioner for Refugees in the League of Nations, the predecessor to the UN. Aside from this, he was a major Arctic explorer best known for being the first to traverse the interior of Greenland on cross-country skis whilst also recording a record latitude in an expedition to the North Pole. He played a major role in innovating means of transport in polar expeditions.
Sir John Franklin
One of Britain’s most iconic lost explorers, Sir John Franklin was known for his experience in polar expeditions. He participated on three Arctic expeditions prior to his final one. His expedition to the Coppermine River was particularly notorious, with 11 of his 20 men dying and rumours of cannibalism emerging due to the hostile conditions. He served as the Lieutenant-Governor of Van Diemen’s Land (modern-day Tasmania) prior to his final expedition. The infamous Northwest Passage expedition of 1845 was sadly what he is best known for. Commanding the HMS Erebus and the HMS Terror, the expedition ran into disarray as the ships became trapped in ice. There were strong suggestions of mutiny and cannibalism once evidence of the expedition’s failure was uncovered.
Erik the Red
One of the most iconic of the Norse explorers, Erik the Red is a major figure in Medieval Icelandic historical texts. Erik the Red established the first settlement in Greenland following his exile from Iceland. He was named both for his red beard and his brash and volatile persona. He was the father of Leif Erikson, the famous Norse explorer who was the first European to arrive in the New World. | English | NL | 510038862af8c3fc7b5dd846099c50b5ba52529d72ed8d45df5f12fd562dab59 |
Julian wasted no time ploughing into her catechisation; he started during dinner the following evening. There was method in his madness though: the catechism began with the subject of Terry’s sponsors in baptism, so they spent dinner talking about Terry’s godparents and her growing up at St. Sebastian’s, which made for nice dinnertime conversation. As dinner wound down, Julian wanted to get into some more of the catechism, but Terry had other things on her mind.
“Julian, does anyone here at the Cathedral do visitation?”
Julian was taken aback by the question. “I’ve never heard it put that way.”
“I know I did a lot of it as a pastor—in a small church especially, people expected it.”
“I still find it strange to hear you refer to yourself as a pastor, even though I know you were a fine one,” Julian replied.
“Many people found it strange, but they sent me to plant the Barlin church so I did. God made a way for it to grow.”
“That right—you were its first pastor, weren’t you?”
“It was the third attempt. None of the men wanted the job. I had to work full time to support myself. Max helped to get my job as secretary to then Duke Henry. After my workday was done, I often went to visit people—current members who were sick or had problems, people who had visited our church or one of the prayer groups we had, or just needed the Saviour. Barlin is small, so I didn’t have to go far. But you still haven’t answered my question about visitation here.”
Julian thought for a minute. “All of our parishes have communicants and memberships; how often the parishioners are visited depends, of course, on the rector. Some are more diligent than others about it. Our problem at the Cathedral, however, is in part due to our odd legal status.”
“What’s odd about it, Julian?”
“Under our law—both secular and canon—the Bishop is the chaplain to the King and Queen—Desmond is chaplain to His and Her Highnesses. The Cathedral, thus, is the King’s Chapel, and as such has no means by which a communicant of our Church can directly affiliate with the Cathedral. The people who attend service here are, technically, on membership rosters elsewhere—usually at St. Matthew’s in Serelia Beach. But we have no way of really keeping up with them—we do not even have a proper Vestry, although we do have an Altar Guild. That’s one reason why we only need one service on Sunday morning—Sunday evening is for other purposes.”
“Then perhaps we should start with what we would call your ‘regular attenders,’” Terry suggested. “I know you believe in visitation.”
“I felt it was my duty to do something—they were in such grief, and no one else was…”
“…doing anything about it.” Terry finished. “But think about the people you see every Sunday—who might we go see tonight?”
Once again Julian had to think. “There’s the Chancellor’s father and mother—she’s an invalid, they only come occasionally. They leave about three blocks from here.”
“An excellent place to start—let’s do it.” With that they went out of both the Cathedral close and the palace grounds hand in hand into town. Terry had found the Serelians to be a charming people, but she still had a hard time getting over the desultory way in which they kept their town in general and their houses in particular. As Julian had promised, though, in three blocks they reached a small concrete block house in a lot not much bigger than the house. Julian and Terry walked up to the front door and Julian knocked.
“Peace be to this house, and to all that dwell in it,” Julian said when the man of the house answered the door.
“My, Reverend, this is a surprise—and such a fellow visitor you have here.” He was grizzled, in his late 60’s, neatly but plainly dressed.
“Oh, yes—this is my friend, Terry Marlowe,” Julian said nervously. His next step would have been to reach for his Prayer Book but Terry had his right hand firmly clasped in her left.
“Her Highness’ assistant—this is an event,” the man said. “I’m Harold Dillman—you’ve met my son, the Chancellor. Come on in”—he ushered them into his living room—“and meet my wife Loretta.” They came in; Loretta was sitting in her wheelchair, but reached out her hand to greet them. All of them were seated; if Loretta hadn’t had her own chair, one of them would have been in the floor. “It’s been a long time since a man of the cloth has darkened this door,” Harold said. “So what brings you two here?”
“It was Terry’s idea,” Julian admitted. “She was a pastor in her church and country, and had done quite a lot of it. She asked me about the Cathedral’s visitation. This is ultimately my answer.”
Harold looked at Terry. “I don’t know about her church, but her country has caused us a lot of grief lately.”
“Oh, but she’s in our service now,” Julian came back eagerly.
Harold looked Terry over again. “You’re originally from Verecunda, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am,” Terry replied. “Point Collina, to be exact—since the country has been dismembered, the distinction is significant.”
“It really is,” Harold agreed. “So you’re just learning your way around here, aren’t you?”
“There’s a lot to learn,” Terry replied. “Your son was one of the first people I met when I first came here in March. He’s a fine man. He actually received me as a subject of the king.”
“We think he’s fine too—we just don’t see him often enough,” Loretta said. “The king keeps him busy.”
“I have some roots there myself,” Harold said. “My mother’s family was from Driscoll, but my father’s father came here from Verecunda long ago.”
“Any relation to the gynaecologists?” Terry inquired.
“Cousins,” Harold answered. “I’m glad they’re here, but it’s a shame why they had to move. My grandmother’s family was from Hallett, in Uranus—her maiden name was Stanley, so I’m related to that young lady who now is known as ‘the Ponytail Princess.’”
“Julia,” Terry happily said. “A wonderful Christian girl.”
“I got to meet her when she was on her honeymoon,” said Harold. “She has an interesting life ahead of her.”
“I was there when it changed so dramatically,” Terry said.
“I understand you might have missed it if our dear Princess hadn’t have been the nosey kind,” Harold came back. They all got a chuckle out of that.
“I used to be in the Royal Serelian Navy,” Harold resumed. “I came up through the ranks. By the time this last war rolled around, I had a desk job as commander of the Royal Naval Docks. We would have won that war if that fool Amherst hadn’t gotten such big ideas with that big operation he tried at Cresca—we tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen and neither would the king. Now we are only half the country we were. I retired after the cease-fire. It was just as well, as Loretta was hit by a car just about then and hasn’t walked since.” They chatted about many things; Julian had known them for a long time, so there was plenty to chat about.
Finally Julian said, “We have missed you in God’s house.”
“It’s hard to go with Loretta the way she is,” Harold replied. “Besides, after what we went through in this war, it’s hard to see whether God cares about this place or not, or if He’s even out there to care.”
Terry looked at Harold intensely. “My God has never failed me,” she began. “He was there for me when I married my husband, and He was there when I buried him. He was there when I brought my son into the world, and He was there when I sent him out for the last time. He was there when I left Verecunda in secret, and He was there when I returned with the Aloxan army. He is here with me now that I have come to Serelia to serve, and if we had lost the war, He would have been at my side if I were hanged outside the palace gate. My God has never abandoned me, and if you’ll trust Him, you find He will be there for you too.”
Harold looked at her with a surprised look. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“I’ve staked my life on it.” There was a silence in the room. Then Terry turned to Loretta and said, “Would you like for us to pray for you?”
Now the surprise was Loretta’s. “That would be very kind of you.” Terry got out her little bottle of anointing oil.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Harold asked.
“Yes, I’m one of them.” She dabbed her right index finger in the oil, then laid it on Loretta’s forehead and began to pray. Julian grasped Terry’s left hand and prayed along the best he could. Terry prayed about a minute and then ended.
“That was nice of you,” Loretta said.
“Once again, we’d love to see you in church sometime,” Julian said, looking for something to say.
Harold thought a minute. “I might take you up on that sometime soon.”
“Do you need help in getting to church?” Terry asked, almost reflexively.
“No—we’ll get Devin to bring us. He doesn’t have anything else better to do on Sunday anyway.” They wound it up and said their goodbyes. Terry went out the door first, but as Julian left Harold called his name. He stopped and turned around.
“Yes, what is it?” Julian asked.
“That’s a fine girl you’ve got yourself there,” Harold said. “Don’t let her slip through your fingers like you did the last one.”
“Yes, sir,” Julian nervously replied, and left.
As they reached the street they saw Devin coming from the government complex towards the house. “Fine to see you two out this evening,” Devin said. “I’m coming by to check on my father and mother.”
“We were just visiting them,” Julian replied.
“Oh? Something wrong?” Devin asked.
“No—it’s Terry’s idea for visitation.”
“Good one—keep it up,” Devin said. As Devin went into the house, Julian and Terry walked back towards the palace gate.
“In our Church, we usually use a solid nard for unction, rather than liquid oil,” Julian said.
“Then bring some next time we go,” Terry replied.
“Also in our Church, the minister is the one who administers the Unction of the Sick.”
“Then next time you pray like that.”
Saturday morning was the normal practice time of the children’s choir at the Cathedral. Their rehearsal room was upstairs; the two sets of pews for altos and sopranos were set in a V-shape, with the grand piano in the middle. This gave Julian, sitting at the keyboard, a reasonable view of the whole choir, necessary with the group he was dealing with. On this Saturday morning Terry decided to come and sit in on the practice and see just how Julian did it; she and Darlene were making enough progress on the charters to permit such a break.
The practice was unexceptional; the older children found her presence intriguing, though. When it was over and Terry went over to Julian and asked, “Why don’t we go to the beach? I’ve not had the chance to go since I’ve been here.”
Julian looked out the window and said, “Looks a little threatening today.”
“Then we need to get started early.” Julian realised that she had already taken their decision, so he agreed.
“We’ll get ready in our respective apartments and meet in the middle, directly behind the palace proper,” Julian declared. They then left the choir room and separated, Julian to his apartment and Terry to hers.
Terry had the longer trip initially, so she alternated between a run and a brisk walk. Darlene was out with one of the staff, trying to start an herb garden at the palace. She saw Terry and said, “What’s your hurry?”
“I’m meeting Julian on the beach,” Terry replied, racing onward.
Darlene turned to her assistant and said, “Quick, go get George and tell him to meet me at the Sea Garden—it’s important.” As the assistant went on to summon the Prince, Darlene went on as rapidly as she could to the Sea Garden.
The Palace Beach wasn’t the best beach in Serelia by any means, as it was too close to the inlet. It tended to fall off very rapidly into the ocean. However, it had one virtue: it was private, restricted to those who lived in the palace compound or the Cathedral close. On this day Terry and Julian had the beach to themselves, except for the occasional palace guard and at first the small cloud of witnesses gathering at the Sea Garden.
Julian reached the appointed spot first, dressed in a tacky pair of swimming trunks and shirt to match. He stood and looked northwest up the beach, waiting for Terry. It took what seemed to him to be an eternity for Terry to emerge from the beach door at the bottom of the living quarters, but finally she did. He could make out that she was dressed in a beach robe and had sunglasses on, with a beach towel over her arm. She made her way slowly down to beach towards Julian; he took in every step.
When she finally reached him, she stood in front of him in silence. Then she took her sunglasses off and slipped them into the pocket of the robe. Then she took her robe off, which revealed a full one-piece bathing suit. Then she laid her robe and towel on the ground and stood looking at him.
A wide-eyed Julian took two steps back; once again it was his turn to put his hand in the mains. They were in silence looking at each other when Terry said, “Why don’t we go into the ocean for a swim?”
“That’s a splendid idea,” Julian answered, regaining enough of his composure to speak. He turned and started running towards the ocean. He got halfway there when he realised that Terry wasn’t following him. He stopped and turned back towards her.
“Going into the water would be a lot nicer if you’d take your shirt off,” Terry coolly observed.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said. He walked back up to her, took his shirt off, and they went into the ocean hand in hand.
While they were doing all this, Darlene and George were in the Sea Garden, trying to be inconspicuous while doing the play-by-play.
“She’s still disgusting—I can’t believe how skinny she is,” Darlene said.
“I told you not to feed her so much conch chowder,” George gently scolded his wife.
“I had to do something to move this relationship on,” Darlene defended herself.
“Well, you’ve done it this time.” They sat there and watched as the lovers enjoyed the water.
“Remember when we would play here long ago?” Darlene asked her own love.
“I do—you always liked those sand castles,” George answered. They drew closer at the thought. “I find it hard to believe that we’re sitting here watching two people ten years our senior and we’re the old married people.”
“What’s even more amazing,” Darlene added, “is that for both of them their most passionate love isn’t swimming in the water with them.”
Julian and Terry played and swam in the water for a long time, but finally got out and went back to where their towels were. They dried off, then spread them out on the beach, and laid down facing each other.
“You’ve never told me about your time at university,” Terry said.
“Oh, so I haven’t. As you know, my father was sexton at the Cathedral. Everyone expected me to be the next sexton too, but by the time I was twelve I was playing the organ some. So I was able to win a scholarship and study music on the mainland. The Church told me that, if I would take a minor in theology, they would pay the additional expense and ordain me a priest. Music is a demanding major, so I ended up spending five years getting my degree.”
“Did you enjoy your time there?”
“With my music, I did. When I got there, they were amazed at how proficient at the organ I was, since I came from such a remote place. It made less work for them. I still didn’t have a lot of money, though, so I had to work. I played jazz in nightclubs for a while.”
“Jazz—I didn’t know you played jazz.”
“That’s where I really learned how to properly improvise,” he said. “I enjoyed playing the music in the clubs, even though I don’t think that kind of music has any place in the church. Don’t some of your churches use it during their worship services?”
“All the time.”
“I eventually had to quit working in the clubs, though.”
“Why? Because you were a theology minor?”
“Not really—they thought it was funny, even though they knew what kind of a person I was. My studies got too demanding, though. Besides, I got tired of the smoke and the drunks and the scantily-clad barmaids there—oh, I’m sorry,” Julian stopped himself, surveying his love.
Terry giggled. “I’m flattered by the comparison. But I don’t do this very often. Even Darlene wondered why I wear long sleeves all the time.”
“I think your modesty is admirable.”
“There’s more to it, though.” She turned her left arm to show the needle scars between her wrist and elbow from her days as a drug addict. Julian winced; he winced again when she leaned her left shoulder towards him, showing the scar on the upper left arm from the war. “God has brought me a long way. So how did you like your theology studies?”
“Not so much. I didn’t like all of the doubts they had. It seemed to me that they doubted just for doubting’s sake. Desmond really enjoys all that, but I don’t. And they made fun of our church, too.”
“What did they say?”
“They thought it was too conservative—that was especially true of those who were connected with other churches in the Communion. The same questions kept coming up—why don’t you change your Prayer Book? Why don’t you think about ‘opening up’ on your beliefs? Why don’t you consider ordaining women? And then of course our relationship with the state was always a point of controversy. One of my teachers told our entire class in my presence that he thought the Church of Serelia was ‘a blight on the Anglican Communion.’ After that I just wanted to get done with theology, concentrate on my music and come home, which I did. Shortly after my return, our organist and choirmaster, who was my teacher, had to retire because of his poor health, and I’ve been at my duties here ever since.”
“That puts this church in a whole different light,” Terry observed. “You know, we were going over the Apostles’ Creed—you know the Verecundans made your church eliminate any reference to Christ’s second coming.”
“They made them rewrite the Creed entirely,” Julian added. “It was blasphemy.”
“You know,” Terry mused, “some people would think we’re crazy, out here on the beach, talking about the Creed.”
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” Julian said.
Terry reached out and stroked Julian’s face. “When I’m here with you like this, on the beach with the ocean, I feel like I’m in the Garden of Eden. Now I have an inkling of what our first parents felt. They did have one other advantage, though.”
“What did you have in mind, Terry?” Julian asked, a little nervous.
She cast a glance towards the Sea Garden. “Until the serpent showed up, only God was watching them.”
“Oh, dear,” Julian sighed, realising that palace romance was a spectator sport. They talked for a long time about many subjects, even drifting back into the Creed from time to time.
“This isn’t moving very fast,” George said. “All they do is talk.”
“Maybe they’re reaching beyond what they see in each other—which is beautiful enough—into what they can’t, which is even better,” Darlene replied.
At long last the weather looked like it was going to get nasty, so they picked up their things and embraced goodbye. Julian stood watching her departure; she had put her robe back on and was carrying towel over her arm as she walked up the beach back towards the door. She waved at George and Darlene as they prepared for the post-game analysis and bowed to the King and Queen, who were out on their balcony, taking this all in. Julian did not start back to his apartment until she went through the door and out of sight.
Everyone’s routine went on as usual the following week. Julian and Terry met faithfully for her catechism. Julian read to her the question that came after the Creed: “What dost thou chiefly learn in these Articles of thy Belief?”
“First, I learn to believe in God the Father, who hath made me, and all the world,” she replied, likewise reading. “Secondly, in God the Son, who hath redeemed me, and all mankind. Thirdly, in God the Holy Ghost, who sanctifieth me, and all the elect people of God.”
Julian looked at Terry. “I’m a little worried about this part.”
“Because churches such as yours are generally Reformed, and believe that Christ only died for the elect, and all that.”
“Pentecostal churches are not really ‘Reformed’ in that sense,” Terry explained. “Mine—and most of us—are Wesleyan-Arminian in theology. Jesus Christ did not come and die just for a few—He came in love for all of us. It’s just that some of us elect to receive Him and some don’t. It’s the same with sanctification—the Holy Ghost came to sanctify all the church, it’s just that some receive it and some don’t. John Wesley was a lifelong Anglican—it was this kind of doctrine that helped him to understand sanctification as a second work after salvation. I guess I’m coming full circle here, from an institutional standpoint. The one thing Pentecostal churches have discovered is the third work, the baptism in the Holy Spirit with speaking in tongues as the initial evidence.”
“I heard you do that while praying over Loretta Dillman the other evening,” Julian said. “I wasn’t prepared for it.”
“I knew Pentecostals spoke in tongues, but we have always associated such things with people who lacked intelligence—something you obviously are well endowed with.”
“God has a great sense of humour, doesn’t he?” Terry asked. “I’m glad you witnessed that. I’ve never intended to hide that from you.” She paused. “If you believe the rumour mill, there’s not much I haven’t hidden from you.”
“It’s really terrible,” Julian noted.
“Don’t you people have a prayer”—she leafed through her prayer book—“yes, here it is: ‘Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid;’ I think in this place there aren’t any secrets from anyone else either.” They both got a laugh out of that. | English | NL | f7625cdcfcfe23e3686cd191bc92b6aa2f69200c1dcebb32d5ccdefb8a5dc7f4 |
Sorrow removes a great deal of a person’s shallowness, but it does not always make that person better. Suffering either gives me to myself or it destroys me. You cannot find or receive yourself through success, because you lose your head over pride. And you cannot receive yourself through the monotony of your daily life, because you give in to complaining. The only way to find yourself is in the fires of sorrow. Why it should be this way is immaterial. The fact is that it is true in the Scriptures and in human experience. You can always recognize who has been through the fires of sorrow and received himself, and you know that you can go to him in your moment of trouble and find that he has plenty of time for you. But if a person has not been through the fires of sorrow, he is apt to be contemptuous, having no respect or time for you, only turning you away. If you will receive yourself in the fires of sorrow, God will make you nourishment for other people. | English | NL | 4fcd9042a75895ccd43be6eb7b7df3c44bcffe34bcf10df2c320ed66f5ccbddb |
Bill wasn't sure what exactly his plans were with the painting, but he certainly knew that he could not leave it behind, especially upon his discovery that it was a magical painting. It would be considered cruel to allow the painting to just sit there in the darkness in the horrible condition of the shack. Even though the woman, who he had learned was named Astrid Perrot was more than shy, he didn't like the idea of leaving her behind. There was something that was mesmerizing about the silent gaze that followed him every time he spoke and tried to coax her to speak with him.
"You're actually taking that thing with you? I thought you said it was a silly painting?" Donald asked in surprised when Bill came walking out of the shack with the painting under his arm. The trip to find the missing goblet had been unsuccessful, but to Bill, the trip had become worth it by the end of it all. He was more than curious and wanted to figure out why the painting was so different from the rest of moving portraits he had come across in his lifetime. Back during his time in Hogwarts, mainly from the portrait themselves, he learned that the people inside the portraits were capable of moving about freely from portrait to portrait.
Not only that, but the paintings were supposed to keep the mannerisms and demeanour of the person, even after the subject passed away. Much like the paintings in Hogwarts, the level of interaction the portraits had, heavily relied on how powerful the witch or wizard was. Which was why many of the Headmaster and Headmistress portraits were able to carry small conversations, unlike other paintings in the castle who would shout out only certain phrases.
They were only supposed to be representations of their living entities, carrying on a two-dimensional version of that person and nothing more.
However, from what Bill saw of Astrid, there was something far more complex about the woman in the photo. She continuously hid away in the portrait, especially when one of the other Curse-Breakers came around. Bill couldn't understand why someone would have painted such a shy person, only to have the painting hide repeatedly. Revealing her name at the bottom of the portrait, the name Astrid Perrot didn't sound very familiar and it was rare that a witch or wizard was painted if they held little importance to the wizarding world.
It took a decent amount of time for an artist to complete one portrait, some would spend years. Mainly due to all the enchantments that were placed on the portrait to keep the person moving about and then trying to capture the personality of the person being painted was a whole other task.
Bill wanted to learn more about Astrid but to do so, he was going to have to bring the painting along, which of course, raised suspicion among his peers. For all they saw, was a painting of a bed and a chair.
"I'm just curious about it, Donald, that's all. Besides, it's not like it's of any value to anyone here or Gringotts. I doubt anyone will be missing it."
Returning to Egypt with disappointing news, Bill was just thankful he wasn't the one who had to inform the Gringotts officials of their failure. They were certain that the goblet was there, but the Curse-Breakers had turned the shack upside down and inside out searching for it. They were simply just going to have to deal with the fact that it was no longer in the shack as they suspected. Arriving home to his small place, Bill exhaustively walked into his flat and placed his belongings down before letting out a tired yawn. Despite apparating, it was a long trip and the searching had done a number on him.
YOU ARE READING
MONA LISA SMILE ⟶ Bill WeasleyFanfiction
Like the famous Mona Lisa, there was always a mystery behind the smile of Astrid Perrot. Simply because it was never seen. Found in the ruins of a home after Gringott's declares a search for stolen artefacts, Astrid Perrot comes across a new life as... | English | NL | 0da845b8f28cf9ccb9c39f095bf769d0a93fa25cfee62fee576473b11010a150 |
Webster Bible Translation
The Danites Settle in Laish
1In those days there was no king in Israel: and in those days the tribe of the Danites sought for themselves an inheritance to dwell in; for to that day all their inheritance had not fallen to them among the tribes of Israel. 2And the children of Dan sent of their family five men from their borders, men of valor, from Zorah, and from Eshtaol, to explore the land, and to search it; and they said to them, Go, search the land: who when they came to mount Ephraim, to the house of Micah, they lodged there. 3When they were by the house of Micah, they knew the voice of the young man the Levite: and they turned in thither, and said to him, Who brought thee hither? and what makest thou in this place? and what hast thou here? 4And he said to them, Thus and thus dealeth Micah with me, and hath hired me, and I am his priest. 5And they said to him, Ask counsel, we pray thee, of God, that we may know whether our way which we go shall be prosperous. 6And the priest said to them, Go in peace: before the LORD is your way in which ye go.
7Then the five men departed, and came to Laish, and saw the people that were in it, how they dwelt careless, after the manner of the Zidonians, quiet and secure; and there was no magistrate in the land, that might put them to shame in any thing; and they were far from the Zidonians, and had no business with any man. 8And they came to their brethren to Zorah and Eshtaol: and their brethren said to them, What say ye? 9And they said, Arise, that we may go up against them: for we have seen the land, and behold, it is very good: and are ye still? be not slothful to go, and to enter to possess the land. 10When ye go, ye shall come to a people secure, and to a large land: for God hath given it into your hands; a place where there is no want of any thing that is on the earth.
11And there went from thence of the family of the Danites, out of Zorah and out of Eshtaol, six hundred men appointed with weapons of war. 12And they went up, and encamped in Kirjath-jearim, in Judah: wherefore they called that place Mahaneh-dan to this day: behold, it is behind Kirjath-jearim. 13And they passed thence to mount Ephraim, and came to the house of Micah.
Danites Take Micah's Idols
14Then answered the five men that went to explore the country of Laish, and said to their brethren, Do ye know that there is in these houses an ephod, and teraphim, and a graven image, and a molten image? now therefore consider what ye have to do. 15And they turned thitherward, and came to the house of the young man the Levite, even to the house of Micah, and saluted him. 16And the six hundred men appointed with their weapons of war, who were of the children of Dan, stood by the entrance of the gate. 17And the five men that went to explore the land went up, and came in thither, and took the graven image, and the ephod, and the teraphim, and the molten image: and the priest stood in the entrance of the gate with the six hundred men that were appointed with weapons of war. 18And these went into Micah's house, and brought the carved image, the ephod, and the teraphim, and the molten image. Then said the priest to them, What do ye? 19And they said to him, Hold thy peace, lay thy hand upon thy mouth, and go with us, and be to us a father and a priest: Is it better for thee to be a priest to the house of one man, or that thou shouldst be a priest to a tribe and a family in Israel? 20And the priest's heart was glad, and he took the ephod, and the teraphim, and the graven image, and went in the midst of the people.
21So they turned and departed, and put the little ones, and the cattle, and the furniture before them. 22And when they were a good way from the house of Micah, the men that were in the houses near to Micah's house were collected, and overtook the children of Dan. 23And they cried to the children of Dan. And they turned their faces, and said to Micah, What aileth thee, that thou comest with such a company? 24And he said, Ye have taken away my gods which I made, and the priest, and ye have gone away: and what have I more? and what is this that ye say to me, What aileth thee? 25And the children of Dan said to him, Let not thy voice be heard among us, lest angry fellows rush upon thee, and thou lose thy life, with the lives of thy household. 26And the children of Dan departed: and when Micah saw that they were too strong for him, he turned and went back to his house.
27And they took the things which Micah had made, and the priest which he had, and came to Laish, to a people that were at quiet and secure: and they smote them with the edge of the sword, and burnt the city with fire. 28And there was no deliverer, because it was far from Zidon, and they had no business with any man; and it was in the valley that lieth by Beth-rehob. And they built a city and dwelt in it. 29And they called the name of the city Dan, after the name of Dan their father, who was born to Israel: but the name of the city was Laish at the first. 30And the children of Dan set up the graven image: and Jonathan, the son of Gershom, the son of Manasseh, he and his sons were priests to the tribe of Dan until the day of the captivity of the land. 31And they set up for themselves Micah's graven image which he made, all the time that the house of God was in Shiloh. | English | NL | 65ea0501e0149bb655b10a66a976f60fec6acf2aed4d1931873598d33e363d7d |
Mawia and Alypius gave a good answer here for a mainstream follower. That would be that mainstream teaches the immortality of the soul. They would say that the person must go somewhere after death. The other side, which is sizable and includes 7th Day Adventists, teaches that the soul is not immortal and the dead are dead; it is like sleeping or being unconscious.
The bible has several passages that are very interesting concerning this topic. The most notable is probable the one Mawia quoted.
After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus. Matt 17
Most Christians would agree that Elijah did not die (2 kings 2) so his presence is therefore not revealing for this topic. For the mainstream belief in the immortal soul it is obvious that Moses' soul was just as lucid and able as his body. For the lesser taken view of the mortal soul, there is an argument (although weak, in my opinion), that Moses was resurrected. This is one of the 7th Day Adventists sites. They are one of the larger groups that believe the soul is mortal and the video in the link covers their logic on Moses' resurrection very well.
The next most notable passage is of Saul and the medium of Endor. Saul was a good king who had turned wicked, and in desperation turned to a medium to consult his dead counselor Samuel. Something does actually appear and what it is I will not try to say but, again, both sides have a ready answer. See this post on the topic.
Now the next one is probably more commonly quoted than the story of Saul and the medium and it is also the one Alypius chose to use on this post. It is actually a parable of Jesus where two men die and see each other and father Abraham in the after life.
“The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. 23 In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. 24 So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’
“But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.’
“He answered, ‘Then I beg you, father, send Lazarus to my family, 28 for I have five brothers. Let him warn them, so that they will not also come to this place of torment.’
“Abraham replied, ‘They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.’
“‘No, father Abraham,’ he said, ‘but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.’
“He said to him, ‘If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.’” Luke 16:19
Mainstream, immortal soul theology would say there really is no argument here. They are in an afterlife conversing and these are the very words of Jesus. The less taken, mortal soul theology would argue that this was a parable and it is not even about death and the after life. It is meant to show that the Prophets and the Law (the books of the Old Testament) should be enough for anyone to believe. If they do not believe those then even someone coming back from the dead would not convince them to believe. See this post and this post for further study on this particular passage.
Both sides have good and bad points, but that is your decision. I have provided the groundwork for you to learn about both and make an informed decision.
As for describing heaven as 'like Nirvana' I cannot find nor have I heard of any such passages. | English | NL | e49ac8689211c72bfec38546df2b2544f9dbebe0a8e0f262cb430a459ce1b5c2 |
There have been many, many sermons, teachings and discussions about the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus presents us with some pretty amazing statements. He turns everything upside down by saying, Blessed are the poor in spirit, those who mourn; those who hunger and thirst etc. The average person hearing this from the world’s viewpoint would think this guy has lost his mind. What could be a blessing about being poor, sad or hungry?
For many years there was, and sometimes still is, the false idea that if you are well off you are blessed. The disciples were shocked to hear Jesus say, “It is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven.” The disciples looked at him and said “Then who can be saved?” You see, they thought, like many others, that riches were a sure sign that God was blessing them. Jesus says no. The point is that those that are needy are the only ones likely to see their need for Christ.
Jesus was born under law according to Galatians where it says, “God sent forth his Son, born of a woman, born under the Law, so that he might redeem those who were under the Law…” This means that Jesus’ whole life he lived under the shadow of the Temple, animal sacrifices, the Levitical Priesthood and everything else that was expected of the Jews found in the Old Covenant Law. It wasn’t until he died on the cross that the New Covenant was enacted.
Hebrews 9:16-17, “For where a covenant is there must of necessity be the death of the one who made it. For a covenant is valid only when men are dead, for it is never in force while the one who made it lives.” So this shines a little light on Jesus’ sermons doesn’t it?
The Old Covenant Law requires perfection from its adherents and Jesus agreed with that wholeheartedly. He not only preached the Law he preached the Spirit behind the Law. He made statements like “You have heard it said you shall not commit murder but I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be guilty! You have heard it said you shall not commit adultery but I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust for her has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” So Jesus is explaining how the Law demands perfection and so does he. He says, “You are to be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
Ultimately I would say a large portion of Jesus’ teaching was essentially one of cranking down extra tight on the Law. He said he came not to abolish the Law but to fulfill it. This fulfillment took place by way of his death, burial and resurrection. Until that happened he continued to push people towards perfection. All the while knowing no one could perform up to the perfect standards of the Law, but He understood the reason God gave the Law to begin with.
It isn’t difficult to see once you learn the purpose in the giving of the Law. God gave it to us in order to expose the sin in our lives so we would run to Christ for deliverance. It isn’t until we see that God requires perfection, and we try really hard to obtain it, in our own strength, that we will be willing to cry out to Jesus Christ. Of course this is what God intended for us all along. I am so thankful he is patient with us and waits until we finally get completely worn down and give in. Once we cry out to him it’s as if he says, “Finally you see you can’t do it, come to me!” | English | NL | 66d0d9605aae7c9954182d8ee193d59c1ef21eccdbb3a38fbad21b1f9a954b0e |
(Yamanaka Fumihiko, 山中文彦)
|Fanfiction, Sasuke's Kids by Crossover For Idiots|
|Team One, Team Sasuke|
Academy Grad. Age
Chūnin Prom. Age
Santa Yamanaka (Father)
Fumie Yamanaka (Mother)
Fu Yamanaka (Uncle)
Romanaki Yamanaka (Second cousin)
Inoichi Yamanaka (Second cousin)
Ino Yamanaka (Second cousin once removed)
Inodai Yamanaka (Second cousin)
Inojin Yamanaka (Second cousin twice removed)
Nao Yamanaka (Grandmother)
Hansuke Yamanaka (Grandfather)
Fumihiko Yamanaka (山中文彦,Yamanaka Fumihiko) is one of the main OC characters in the Naruto fanfiction Sasuke's Kids and is a Konohagakure Genin of the next generation. He is a member of Konohagakure's Yamanaka Clan.
Fumihiko was not planned by his parents, who were still young when he was born. They'd only been married three years and were happy to have him adjusting quickly to having a child with the support of their family. Fumihiko spent most of his time with his mother and went everywhere with her. When she grew ill they rarely left the house and near the end it became never. Fumihiko refused to leave her side, terrified if he left for a moment she'd fade into nothing.
When her other symptoms started to set in it became an even more horrific task for the little boy, because not just her body, but her mind was affected. His father was busy in the Interrogation and Torture Department because of the sudden activity with the Akatsuki demanding everyone's attention. This left Fumihiko all alone to deal with it.
Fumie, having a "good moment" of mental clarity and sensing her end was near, sent Fumihiko away to get her flowers. Seeing his mother acting normal again Fumihiko was hopeful and quickly rushed off to do as she said. While he was gone Fumie sent for Inoichi, his wife, and Shikaku. She knew she would be going and she wanted to be able to hold onto her clarity at the end. Shikaku helped by making her the medicine to help, taking away her pain and clearing her mind.
Santa returned from a mission early to find his wife on her deathbed and his son nowhere to be found. He asked to be left alone with her and they agreed allowing the couple to spend their last moments in private. While this was occurring Inoichi went to find Fumihiko while Romanaki began to inform the Clan of Fumie, who'd been rather popular among her clanmates, soon to be passing. Inoichi missed Fumihiko barely and the little boy ran home, unaware of what is waiting for him, arms full of the flowers his mother requested. What he found is his father sobbing over his mother's dead body.
In the weeks that followed his father withdrew from the world and Fumihiko. Fumihiko grew terrified that he'd lose him and tried anything to cling to him. Finally Fumihiko, desperate to keep his last parent with him, began to imitate his mother, copying her mannerisms and even her hair style. His father returned home, after being snapped out of his denial by Inoichi to find Fumihiko waiting to greet him just like Fumie always had. He realized then that his son is still there and needed him, Santa began to come out of his withdrawal from the world to be there for Fumihiko. Fumihiko became very protective and possessive of his father and continued to imitate his mother, believing this is what helped his father, until it became a part of who he is.
As Fumihiko's real personality is very different than the one he presented to the public and his father he began to build with frustration and rage. He then takes this out on Mariko, who is an easy target because of her shyness and her being mostly ignored. It is only when Ino gets onto him that he suppresses his rage and keeps it inside. He then becomes the perfect shell of his mother, only revealing his true personality to Ino. She becomes his idol, surrogate parent, and a mentor to him even more so than their earlier relationship, when she was his favorite babysitter. He takes care of his father, but rarely sees him as Santa is promoted to take Inoichi's place after the war, because of the man's death. It means he is very busy, commonly leaving Fumihiko alone in their home, though they try their best to keep in contact and manage to a point.
Fumihiko was looking forward to graduating and scored in the top five of his class.
Outwardly Fumihiko's personality is quite inviting. He is charming, warm, and friendly towards everyone. He is soft spoken and humble, playing peacemaker to his classmates and never bragging about his achievements. He is well liked for always offering help and never growing impatient with those he assists. His senseis always characterized him as the perfect student. Respectful, polite, and always eager to learn.
In truth he's quite different. Fumihiko always had a bit of a domineering personality, not knowing when to stop, and was always fine with manipulating people to get what he wanted. Once his mother died though these characteristics became extreme. His domineering personality turned bullying and he lashed out at innocent victims unable to get past the rage phase of the grieving process. He spent most of his energies protecting his father emotionally and placed a lot of his own feelings aside in his fear, leaving them unresolved. Even when Ino helped him, he still hasn't fully resolved them, leaving his grief and irrational fears still bubbling underneath the surface. There is also a different sort of rage directed at his father, who Fumihiko views as loving his mother more, coming back for her and not him. This cut them off somewhat, and because of this Funhiko's love for him runs deeply mixed in with pain and fear he won't acknowledge.
Fumihiko acts very different around people he truly trusts revealing his "True Face". He can be very sarcastic, bratty, bossy, and snobbish. He enjoys annoying Sasuke and keeps coming back for more despite any punishments he receives. He's temperamental and a bit of a whiner. He also has a vengeful streak a mile long, because he's very prideful. He does not forget anything done against him and he always gets someone back. He is also very disrespectful of people who haven't earned his personal brand of respect and can be very harsh and judgmental. Fumihiko is also very stingy with his possessions, including the people he's close to.
Despite his negative aspects he also has a lot of good ones. He's very open-minded about someone's origins treating everyone the same (not always a good thing) and is incredibly hard-working (to go with his ambitious streak). Fumihiko is also reliable when he's needed and practical about difficult situation. If he cares for somebody he can even be nurturing, putting them before himself, even thoughtful and tactful. Fumihiko is incredibly loyal to anyone who gains his love and admiration. To such a person he is very devoted. Fumihiko's bossiness stems from his desire to help someone and he only bothers if he truly cares. He is also very fond of children and old people, being surprisingly mature and gentle when it comes to either. His strong love of medical-ninjutsu stems from an ambitious desire to prevent children and families from going through what he went through with his mother's incurable illness. With this love comes a great respect for the shinobi who practice it. Two of his greatest heroes are Sakura and Tsunade.
The whole reason behind Fumihiko's public face as a strong sensitivity to how other people perceive him. It's something his mother passed onto him, through his close interactions with her, and the desire to never let his father hear about him being anything less than perfect. Fumie, being from an entirely civilian family, was always sensitive to the fact that it caused some to look down on her. This cut her deeply and she tried to become the perfect ninja, and when she joined a prestigious Clan, thus compounding her self-consciousness and inferiority complex, the perfect Yamanaka. It is so ingrained in Fumihiko that public perception is important that he's terrified of even a whiff of scandal or displeasure.
- Team One
- Ino Yamanaka: Ino's great-great grandmother is Fumihiko's great-grandmother making Ino his second cousin, once removed. Fumihiko has always admired Ino quite a bit and after his mother's death she began to be a more active part of his life.
- Asagao Sarutobi
- Sakura Haruno
- Santa Yamanaka
- Fumie Yamanaka
- Inodai Yamanaka: Inodai's great-grandmother is Fumihiko's great-grandmother, making him Fumihiko's second cousin. Inodai babysat Fumihiko when he was much younger and his mother was still alive. At the time he was one of the few people the shy baby Fumihiko would chatter at excitedly, while playing Inodai's long hair. When things became busy in the village and Fumihiko's mother became ill, she took care of him and Inodai wasn't around any more. Fumihiko forgot about these times and only interacted with Inodai very sparingly until years later when Fumihiko was about to turn fifteen. At first Fumihiko didn't trust Inodai and disliked him, but comes to like and admire him. Because he's Fumihiko though this is expressed in teasing and occasionally tricking Inodai into helping with a scheme he wanted to pull. He has a deep respect for Inodai being in the medical profession and after they begin to interact more, requests for Inodai to help him train in both medical-ninjutsu and the Clan ninjutsu.
AppearanceHe has long auburn hair kept in a high ponytail combined with Yamanaka blue eyes. He has a rather effeminate look since he trained less in taijutsu meaning he's rather slender. He doesn’t help matters by wearing long shirts, which when combined with his shorts look more like short dresses. He has a very beautiful smile.
He wears a purple high collared Chinese influenced top without sleeves, it is held together with string fastens looping over buttons that go straight through the front middle. The top has the Yamanaka Clan symbol on its buttons and the strings are white along with the lining on the sleeves. The shirt is fitting, but not skin tight and rather long. This is combined with mid-thigh purple shorts. His forehead protector is worn as a belt and is slightly unusual as he's replaced the traditionally blue cloth with white.
Fumihiko has been learning his Clan techniques from Ino for a while and it is something he takes very seriously. He has become rather skilled at them and is above Ino's level in the techniques when she entered the Chunin Exams the first time, because he spends much of his free time practicing. He is nowhere near mastering them, but he is rather proud of his progress and is slightly above Genin level. His mastery of the basics is excellent, but he hasn't tried for the more advanced ones due to his small Chakra reserves.
Intelligence & Social Skills
Fumihiko is very intelligent, crossing over into genius territory. Because of this he is well able to make up for his lack of physical skills with outplanning his enemy and manipulating them. Unlike Shikamaru he is much more motivated to use his intelligence and when combined with his social skills is rather good at manipulating people. He's quite capable of making someone believe him and is not above using his rather delicate appearance against someone. He will even pretend to be a girl if it benefits him despite his abhorrence for being mistaken for one.
Fumihiko's Taijutsu was severely neglected to the point of being worse than Sakura's in Part I. He has the basics down, but refuses to practice or train his body. The pointed lack of Taijutsu skills is a very distinct disadvantage he adapts for in his fighting style, relying on techniques and plans that keep the enemy at bay.
Fumihiko has perfect chakra control. It comes from his mother's side of the family along with his small chakra reserves. His understanding of how to get the most out of this is incredible and it is one of the reason he excels in his Clan Techniques. It is also the reason for his skills in Medical ninjutsu, which he has a talent for. He developed this from his already good chakra control, by practicing chakra control techniques around his home while he was alone. Doing things like keeping a leaf on his forehead while cleaning.
Fumihiko was three during part one and was a happy child with both his parents alive.
Kazekage Rescue Arc
Fumihiko's life took a drastic turn when his mother, who had been of delicate health since he was born, grew ill and died when he was six, right before he entered the Academy. She had a transmissible spongiform encephalopathy and Fumihiko was forced to watch her waste away to nothing before she passed. His father became withdrawn in his grief and fearing he'd lose him too Fumihiko began to imitate his mother. He continued to do this when he started the Academy.
Hidan and Kakuzu Arc
Alone in his own grief as he tries to help his father and with his closest relative dealing with another loss. He meets Mariko Yotsuki at the Academy. He begins picking on the girl to vent his feelings. He spends most of this time perfecting his imitation of his mother and drawing his father back to life, while taking out the rage simmering under the surface on innocent bystanders while no one is looking. When Ino returns, she's able to help him quite a bit, but he does suppress a lot of his anger from this time period.
(Made-up arcs. Exclusive to Fanfiction)
Fumihiko is first introduced when his Jonin sensei, Sasuke Uchiha, comes to meet his Genin. Fumihiko much like his teammates was annoyed with his sensei's lateness and got an initial bad impression of Sasuke. Fumihiko then proceeded to annoy the man, by being subtly rude. The tension between he and his teammate, Mariko Yotsuki, is clear during their team introductions. which stems from his bullying of her when they were younger. He acts slightly patronizing to his other teammate, Chise Baisotei, because of her rather average academic performance, which looks particularly unimpressive when compared to his and Mariko's.
Sasuke's investigation of his Genin before he met them revealed that Fumihiko got along well with the other students in his graduating class and that Fumihiko was something of a peacemaker. Though his cousin's view of him was quite different. Fumihiko, having heard plenty of tales about Kakashi, arrives late to the meeting with Sasuke along with Mariko. He believed that Sasuke will take after Kakashi, because of the Jonin's lateness the previous day. He was also the first of them to speak after Sasuke explained their Genin Test would be taking place in the Forest of Death.
Land of Rice Fields Arc
TBA. Takes place in the Land of Rice Fields.
Sasuke's Training Arc
The History of Hatred Arc
The Shinobi's Path Arc
Setsuna's Death Arc
A True Medic Arc
The Spymaster's Daughter Arc
A filler arc featuring Inodai Fumihiko.
When he and his teammates are having a late supper Fumihiko informs them of his opinion on the "replacement", his cousin Inodai. Fumihiko resents Inodai's presence, much like the others. Fumihiko also suspects that his father is behind Inodai taking over for Sasuke. At the time he had not been very close to Inodai or spent much time with him as Ino was always the closet of his relatives. As such he doesn't know the man very well and has always been naturally distrustful of strangers. It doesn't help that Santa had recently begun pestering Fumihiko more and more about his team and deeply disapproves of Sasuke. They've been fighting and it's led to him spending more time at Mariko or Sasuke's, which is where the team now usually meets up. Chise and Mariko agree with him that the idea has some merit, but both offer their own ideas on the surprise mission and sudden substitute. They have supper and Fumihiko stays after to help clean up and play with the twins a bit while Mariko goes downstairs to close the shop.
When Fumihiko overhears Santa talking to Inodai about him and this, for him, confirms his suspicions. When Inodai tries to be friendly with him, after Fumihiko makes himself known, Fumihiko turns him down coldly and goes to his room. This lands Inodai very firmly in the "don't trust - possible threat to loved ones" category that Fumihiko has and he decides to treat him accordingly.
The White Snake Returns Arc
In Between Arcs
(Made-up. Exclusive to Fanfiction)
Sasuke, dealing with the aftermath of the last arc, becomes increasingly busy, but not wanting to neglect his team's training begins to search for teachers to help them when he cannot.
(Made-up arcs. Exclusive to Fanfiction)
Sasuke's Kids: The Movie
Team Sasuke is investigating a disturbance at the Fire-Sound border.
- Fumihiko means "well-read man". Yamanaka (山中) means "among the mountains".
- Fumihiko's hobbies are shopping, raffles, and embroidery. Though he never admits the last one to anyone.
- Fumihiko wishes to fight Sasuke Uchiha and Ino Yamanaka.
- Fumihiko's favorite food is chicken yakitori. His least favorite foods are tomatoes and pickles. He also doesn't like mushrooms, because he has an allergy.
- Fumihiko's favorite word is "trick" or "disguise".
- Fumihiko's voice actor is the same as Yusuke Urameshi from the anime and manga Yu Yu Hakusho.
- Fumihiko's likes include being with his cousin, working at the Yamanaka Flower Shop, and shopping. He also likes Karaoke places, but like embroidery keeps it secret, because he finds it embarrassing.
- Fumihiko has a good singing voice, though it doesn't really come up in the fanfiction.
- Fumihiko's theme song for his arc is "Try" by Colbie Caillat.
- The flowers Fumihiko is sent to retrieve are forget-me-nots, azalea, hyacinths, and day lilies, symbolizing his mother's last message to him. Forget-me-nots meaning "remember my love", azaleas "take care of yourself for me", hyacinths "I'm sorry", and day lilies for "mother". Altogether the message is "Take care of yourself, Fumihiko. I'm sorry for leaving. Remember that your mother will always love you." It's a message that Fumihiko deciphers later while working in the Yamanaka Flower Shop with Ino.
- (To Raiden) "I don't like people touching what's mine and that includes my teammates."
- (To Sasuke) "What the hell made the Hokage think you should be allowed near children."
- (To Mariko) "What's yours is mine and what's mine is also mine, understand?"
Creation and Conception
Fumihiko was created at first solely as a the male medical-nin on Sasuke's team since the creator wanted Sasuke's team to be far from average. The idea of a next generation fanfiction with Sasuke as a Jonin instructor, in a future where things work out happily for the characters, actually started out with the planning of Fumihiko. Originally he was supposed to be the only team member to have both his parents. He was planned mostly while listening to the Marina and the Diamonds album " The Family Jewels". Obviously he was partially inspired by Ino, who is one of the favorite minor characters of the creator. While planning he was always going to be a bit of a bully and originally he wasn't going to be as important, but the creator became incredibly fond of him, despite his sometimes bad personality, and he is now both her and her sister's favorite with a much bigger part and much more development planned. Fumihiko is also the easiest and most fun to write for the creator. A late decision was made to change his hair color to his father's because it seems auburn is also a color common amongst the Yamanaka and the creator did not want him to look too much like Ino. | English | NL | 8c8907cf94531045c6f3e2a62cd9dde432adb3ba25a3e778afbdc948b91e5dff |
There are Three Kinds of Suns
“When you get to town, get some nice dresses. Something especially now, okay?” Baby Girl’s grandfather said this to her while smoking, letting out the fumes in the open window to his left. She was seven years old, the scar on her right knee still white and pearly, even though it happened years ago when she fell off her bike. She never got back on that bike.
Baby Girl kept repeating the phrase in her head, We don’t walk to the store because Grandpa’s leg is bad. His leg is bad. Baby Girl often repeats words in her head until they don’t sound like words anymore. Brooklyn is all hills when you go up 5th Avenue, so they drive instead. All those miles give her grandfather pain and he’s already in his 70s but his body is really ten years older than that and he thanks the war for that. Grandfather is from Philly, but he moved to Brooklyn to be in the big city and met Baby Girl’s grandmother and they married before the year was out. They had seven children. Two already dead. One shot.
Baby Girl grew up hearing stories about the family, about people who were dead that she never knew and never will know and how they were the best and kindest and craziest and wore the strangest and prettiest clothes. Grandfather always liked to get her new clothes, so she wouldn’t look like all the other kids, clothes that looked like trash, like garbage clothes as he would say. She didn’t really care about looking different, she just wanted to make him happy.
Grandfather parks and they step out of the car and he wheezes a little and leans on his cane that Baby Girl got to put some cat stickers on. From a young age, Baby Girl was used to being someone else’s pet, a project to work on. This will take years to undo. It will never be undone.
Her mother grew up in Bensonhurst, than Bay Ridge. And then Baby Girl was born, in the same house her mother lived in for over 20 years. Grandfather kissed her on her forehead, led her to the store.
Sometimes K holds Baby Girl’s hand or her shoulders or any part of her, so randomly or abruptly that Baby Girl flinches. Every part of her body screams, wants to collapse in at itself. But she doesn’t protest, because isn’t she being the weird one? Shouldn’t she want to be touched?
When Baby Girl was seventeen, she had a boyfriend who would skip class with her to go to the Silent Barn and set up crust punk shows. He had longer hair than Baby Girl did which her parents didn’t like. Baby Girl liked when he got real quiet while making a playlist for her, when he wrote song lyrics for his band, when he bought her French fries at the diner, when he held her hand at a show. He went to prom with her even though he thought the whole thing was lame. They broke up during their first semester at college. He moved to Montana, overdosed on something that no one would tell her. His parents still keep his Facebook active.
Sometimes Baby Girl thinks about her first boyfriend, her high school boyfriend, who sounded like Nick Drake—and wonders if he overdosed by accident or killed himself on purpose. Does it matter? Why do families lie about overdoses, as if somehow covering it up changes the outcome? As if it will bring back the dead. Why do people tell stories that our bodies know are untrue?
I could get into trouble, Baby Girl remembers telling her Nick Drake boyfriend the first time he said they should cut class. She hesitated, but did it anyway. They didn’t get in trouble. Her mom lost the baby she was carrying for eight months in her belly—everything was just falling icicles and men with axes destroying the family room couch. Her dad would mop the floors when the icicles would fall. But they kept falling and he kept mopping.
The first time Baby Girl held a cell phone, her own cell phone, she was 18. Her parents decided to get her one because she had a boyfriend and while they let her stay out with him a little later, they wanted to make sure she was off doing drugs in a dark alley somewhere. She barely used it at the time, would send the occasional text to her parents, or the good night and good morning to her boyfriend. In college, it was like the internet didn’t even exist. It felt freeing, to understand her body was wireless. Could be damage to everyone.
The second time Baby Girl had sex, she was 19. He was an adjunct English professor engaged to a woman two states away that she didn’t know about. He put a body suit on her and spanked her until she cried. She loved every minute. He said he would teach her how to give blow jobs every man would love—and he wasn’t wrong.
She knew he lied, that he was a cheater, that he didn’t really love all the girls, but just wanted to have sex with them. But Baby Girl was tired of basically being a dumb virgin, of having boys and girls reject her, as if her vagina contained some secret covenant inside, as if it were Pandora’s Box. Baby Girl didn’t even care that he wanted to have a lot of sex. She did care about the fact that he didn’t love anyone.
When George W. Bush is elected, no one in Baby Girl’s family cheers. Her mother is on the couch, crying that she isn’t breastfeeding her baby brother that died. What is a family? Her mother cries, asks this question and over and over again. Her father sits there silently, choosing not to be the savior, choosing not to be part of the story. Choosing to opt out.
Uncle P calls her mother on the phone, sometimes asks to speak to Baby Girl. There is no photo to show what he has done to her body, to any girl’s body. How many girls did he take the consciousness of and replace it with agony, with a dreamslate full of sorrow. How many women has he conquered and colonized with his dick, his greedy hands, his putrid mouth rotting into knives?
He asks her how school went, if her homework was hard, if she made it to Brighton Beach and thanked the ocean for letting her body swim and fall into the water, be consumed. He asked her if she had any crushes on boys, what their names were, what neighborhoods they lived in, what she wore. All of these questions were innocent on the surface, but even then, Baby Girl knew better, felt the unaltruistic journalistic edge, some kind of agenda. Even then, she knew her mother would call her crazy, then deem every subsequent act crazy, part of her hysteria, part of her over sensitivity. So, she stayed quiet. She grew to like the silence.
Joanna C. Valente is a human who lives in Brooklyn, New York, and is the author of Sirs & Madams (Aldrich Press, 2014), The Gods Are Dead (Deadly Chaps Press, 2015), Marys of the Sea (The Operating System, 2017), Xenos (Agape Editions, 2016) and the editor of A Shadow Map: An Anthology by Survivors of Sexual Assault (CCM, 2017). Joanna received a MFA in writing at Sarah Lawrence College, and is also the founder of Yes, Poetry, a managing editor for Luna Luna Magazine and CCM, as well as an instructor at Brooklyn Poets. Some of their writing has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Brooklyn Magazine, Prelude, Apogee, Spork, The Feminist Wire, BUST, and elsewhere. | English | NL | 7dfebed8177ad004d338ada52399a94d5f49d48d60607f739919484c9b82ed6d |
The Spiritually Comatose Church
Sardis Church was one of those churches which everyone knew was a ‘great church’. Its auditorium was packed, its worship services were humming, it was involved in loads of great stuff in the community, its statement of faith was sound, it was growing, it was a strong church… but then Jesus gave his verdict: “You are dead. Wake up and strengthen what remains and is about to die” (Rev. 3:1-2)
I think Sardis would have been stunned by that diagnosis. In fact, all the surrounding churches would have been shocked as well. Surely not Sardis Church! Everyone knew that they were the alive church, the happening church, the buzzing church (Rev. 3:1). But Jesus says they are the spiritually comatose church. They have “soiled their clothes” – how’s that for an image!
What was the problem?
A focus on present reputation rather than eschatological reputation. They may have a name now for being alive but Jesus says, to all the churches (Rev. 2-3), that current appearances and reputations are deceptive. The church that looks poor is actually rich; the church that thinks it is rich is actually poor. The people who say they are Jews are actually a synagogue of Satan. So current names and reputations are pretty meaningless. What really counts is having your name in the Lamb’s book of life. What really counts is having Jesus confess your name before the Father on the last day. What really counts is being one of those names who get to walk with Jesus in the new Eden (Rev. 3:4-5).
A focus on works but without relationship and longing. Jesus said they were busy working (Rev. 3:1) but their works were ‘incomplete’ (Rev. 3:2). Why incomplete? Probably the answer is in 1 Corinthians 13 – without love I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. Like the church in Ephesus, it seems that most of those at Sardis had forgotten their first love. They were busy but their busyness was a going through the motions without love – not waiting and longing to be with the Lord and walk with him, just busy ‘churchianity’.
The Sermon on the Mount
Look at Matthew 5-7 and we see the same two emphases:
- The Pharisees, at least many of them, were focused on present reputation. They loved to be greeted in the marketplaces and take the top table at the banquets. They loved to be seen by others giving, praying and fasting (Matt. 6). They had a good reputation among the Jews. They were the models everyone looked up to. And they loved being looked up to and praised. But Jesus says, “They’ve had their reward here and now from men; what you really need to focus on is the future reward from your heavenly Father.” In the beatitudes Jesus turns everything on its head, again – the ones who currently have a name for being poor, sad, thirsty, those who people call all sorts of horrible names, they will have great future reward, while the hypocrites, the play-actors, will be unmasked and exposed and cast out.
- Work is good when it is the fruit of true life and relationship (Matt. 7:16-20). Obedience is essential (Matt. 7:24). But there is a form of work without relationship. There are going to be many who are working hard – prophesying, driving out demons, doing many mighty works (Matt. 7:22) – who will ultimately be found not to have had a relationship with Jesus. “I never knew you” (Matt. 7:23). They did a lot of ministry stuff but the fire of their devotion and longing for Christ, if it was ever there, had gone cold (Matt. 24:12; 25:1-12).
The solution: Wake up!
“Have we replaced the bracing realities of the gospel with ‘evenings without number obliterated by television, evenings neither of entertainment nor of education, but of narcotised defence against time’?”
Sardis is called to, “Remember what you received and heard” (Rev. 3:3). They had drifted from the gospel they first heard. They had forgotten the gospel of a coming wrath and a Jesus who saves us from that wrath by taking our portion in his own body on the Cross. They had got tired of the great gospel of the coming crucified King, coming in all his glory to punish his enemies and complete the salvation of his people. For those who are awake that coming will be the wonderful arrival of the bridegroom (Rev. 19) but for those who are asleep, that coming will not be good news – it will be the trauma of a burglary, the entrance of a thief (Rev. 3:3).
Are we asleep to this gospel? Am I really living as if this is true – that Jesus is coming back – maybe later today – to punish rebels and reward his waiting bride? Have we replaced the bracing realities of the gospel with “evenings without number obliterated by television, evenings neither of entertainment nor of education, but of narcotised defence against time” (Neuhaus, Freedom for Ministry, p. 227)? Is it possible that whole churches have basically lost the plot and fallen asleep? Are we playing at church, playing at Christianity – play-acting to an audience of one another, putting on slick worship services and patting one another on the back and enjoying in-jokes while a huge dam is about to burst and unleash a tsunami of wrath on this earth leaving only those in Christ standing?
The Bucket of Water
Have a read of Revelation 16 or Revelation 20:11-21:8. That is the bucket of water we need to pour over heads to wake us up. These are the realities of the Word which we need to allow to grab hold of us and shake us and say, “Wake up! This is reality! Jesus really is going to come on the clouds. There really is going to be a great white throne with one seated on it who is so terrifying in his judgment that the earth and sky flee away screaming. We are all going to stand there before him – everyone who has ever lived. And on the basis of the record against us, everyone is destined to be picked up and thrown into the lake of fire. And the only way that doesn’t happen is if your name is written in the book of life of the Lamb who went through that fire instead of you. This is real. This is coming. Wake up!”
If we were awake to these things what would it look like?
- It might look like the life of the Earl of Shaftesbury who was one of the great social reformers of the nineteenth century, working tirelessly in parliament and outside for the cause of the poor, disadvantaged, neglected and the spiritually lost, who said, as he looked back over 40 years of public life, “I do not think in the last forty years I have lived one conscious hour that was not influenced by the thought of our Lord’s return.”
- It might look a bit like the life of guys like Richard Baxter and George Whitefield and Robert Murray McCheyne who worked flat out for the gospel because they saw that Christ was coming back, who spoke like dying men to dying men, who were deeply conscious of heaven and hell, who (as John Piper put it) preached as if though God were real – because he is.
- It would certainly look like not being worried about our present reputation, not being bothered about crafting our profile and boosting our likes – why? – because we would be awake and looking forward to that day when Jesus ‘will own my worthless name before His Father’s face.’
It would certainly look like a love and passion for Jesus imbuing everything we do. No longer the works of unthinking zombie-like mechanical performance but labours of love. No longer items on a tick list but acts of devotion to the coming king.
Andy Harker is one of my dear friends from University and a bloke I look up to on many levels as a true brother. I hope you’ve been challenged and encouraged by this post through his superb teaching.
In May 2011 the Harkers moved to Nairobi to serve with iServe Africa. Andy’s main work is developing training curricula and courses, mentoring apprentices, teaching on the quarterly ministry training weeks and building links with like-minded ministries across Africa. Susie is working as a full-time mum. They have three children: Bethan, Jacob and Hannah. If you would like to support them in this costly ministry, please head here now.
You can also read more of Andy’s blogs here: http://watumishiwaneno.wordpress.com/ | English | NL | d90d245e964dc2cab52452bfef8e5949db907d98ab0ede516a6e20b055ac9689 |
I have a confusion between present perfect tense and present perfect continuous tense. Here I describe a situation.
Ram read story book from his childhood day. Ram preferred reading story book when he was a kid. He became adolescence and read story book. Now he is a teenager and still continuing reading.
Now, if I want to express it with a time span from childhood to present what is the best way to define the situation grammatically?
- Ram has read story book since he was a child.(Present Perfect)
2.Ram has been reading story book since he was a child.(Present perfect continuous) | English | NL | 14929645bb271257f12c3a158c2db2dacd1dcfddc927dcbb3d144044a6e67530 |
The apartment was low rent, had a laundry room, and covered utilities, and at first that was enough. She could sustain it, even if she was a college student part-timing as a barista. Not to mention the insane amount of appeal getting out of her parents’ house had held. The fact that she was the first in her family to do so and not move in with a husband right after had filled her with way too much pride to see this coming.
It was 2 A.M. in the morning. Who on God’s earth was fighting right now?
From what Amira could hear through her bedroom wall, it didn’t sound good. Things were being broken, body parts and furniture and glass, and for a second she felt fear pin her to her bed. Like if she moved, if they knew she was awake, she’d be next. And next was the last thing she wanted to be.
So instead she buried her head beneath her pillows and shut her eyes, and pretended her heart wasn’t desperately heavy for whoever she’d just heard get so brutally beaten.
Another warning Amira hadn’t heeded: do not take any classes earlier than 8 A.M.
Six o’clock in the morning came what felt like seconds after she’d finally fallen asleep. The only indication she’d had that it had been longer was the fact that there was light coming through her blinds, and that no one was getting assaulted next door. In fact, the apartment next door was entirely silent when she’d left that morning, like whatever had taken place in there last night had been as real as a nightmare.
Amira had naively believed she could stay on campus until her next class hours later, but she’d quickly found that her legs were as useful to her as chopsticks with the amount of rest she’d gotten the night before. Her entire mind was focused on her bed, on getting to it before she collapsed, and so she’d barely noticed the boy in the elevator when she forcefully stopped the doors from closing. She all but collapsed against the elevator wall.
“You look awful,” he eventually said, and it was only until Amira processed that he was talking to her that she thought to respond.
“Probably,” she mumbled, looking up at him. Her blood almost froze in her veins when his face lifted to the fluorescent elevator light. “Not worse than you,” she huffed out, amazed at the way the cuts and bruises in his face were either healing or scabbed over. Some were stomach-twistingly new. He looked like someone’s unfinished painting.
He shrugged. If the elevator weren’t so small Amira wouldn’t have seen how his face turned away slightly, like he was just then realizing she could see him, too. She did manage a smile out of him though, which looked like it stretched a scar at the corner of his mouth painfully. His smile was beautiful; she almost forgot that it was surrounded by hues of purple and blue and yellow that weren’t supposed to be there. “I’ll be alright. You look like you’re at death’s door.”
“I’ll be at my own in a few seconds,” Amira answered. “That’s good enough for me.”
She only made the obvious connection when the elevator doors opened again, and he followed her onto her floor. In fact, he followed her all the way to the door right next to hers. And judging by the look on his face, he hadn’t realized there was anyone next to him at all. “Oh,” he’d laughed humorlessly.
She realized when he turned to try and fit his keys into his doorknob that there was a scar peeking out from beneath his undercut. It stung her just to look at it. “Please be careful,” she’d said at the last second, just before he disappeared into his own apartment.
“I’ll keep it down,” he’d responded. “Have a nice nap.” And then the door closed behind him.
It was 1:23 A.M. three days later, when she saw him again. He had not kept it down.
He almost looked better than she expected him to when she opened the door and found him there in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked much younger when his hair wasn’t stuck under a baseball cap. He reminded her of a boy scout. “Good morning,” he rasped out. It sounded like it was the first time he’d actually spoken in hours.
“Can I come in?”
Amira opened the door wider and let him in. “Is everything okay?”
There was something about him that made him easy to trust. She didn’t feel anything towards him but concern as she watched him settle onto her couch and put his head in his hands. Vaguely she was aware she’d forsaken yet another piece of advice she’d gotten before she moved out: don’t let strangers in.
“I have a favor to ask.”
“Okay, but your name first.”
His hand flew to the back of his neck. “Oh. Um, it’s Ethan.”
“Does that name mean something special?”
She pretended to think about it. “No, just a name. What’s the favor?”
“Can I hide out in here for the next couple of hours?”
Whoever Ethan was trying to avoid showed up half an hour after they’d finished the first Mission Impossible movie. The “visitor” had opened the door to the apartment adjacent hers with so much force that Amira jumped a little. Ethan was frozen, like he hadn’t even heard it. To Amira, he suddenly looked older. Like years and years of youth had been stolen from him. “Ethan? Who’s here?”
“My biological father,” he murmured, finishing off his coffee as the man in question started screaming his name from the other side of the wall. “He’ll go away soon enough.”
And she almost believed him, until three forceful knocks were pegged into her door two minutes later. Amira slowly got up. “Go into my bedroom and close the door. You’re not here.” He’s staring at the door. “Ethan,” she tried again, and then he was gone within seconds. With trembling hands, she finally opened the door.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” The man at the door was startlingly young, his hair in the beginning stages of graying, his wrinkles still fine and confined only to the skin around his eyes. He’d have looked charming if his eyes weren’t boring holes into her own. “Is Ethan here?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who Ethan is. I live here alone.”
Amira never had much experience with lying; it was a miracle he couldn’t tell that she was. He only nodded. “Alright. I’m sorry to bother you. Good night.”
And then he was gone, taking with him his strange ability to make the oxygen around him taste stale. She waited till she heard the elevator doors down the hall open to finally call Ethan out of her room.
“I’m sorry. That’s the last time I avoid him like that.”
“You should leave. Your apartment, I mean.”
“He’s not going to bully me out of my own place.” Ethan’s tone told her that leaving wasn’t an option, that it never had been.
“He can’t just do this to you every night,” Amira insisted, heart immensely heavy at the idea of him being in his apartment when his dad came back tomorrow. “At least call the police.”
“I’m not his only kid,” he scoffed. “Just the only one he hates. The others still need someone to feed them.”
Amira took a second to look at him, at the fact that the logo on his shirt meant that they went to the same college. She wondered how her mother would respond to him, to the fact that he was infinitely safer away from his parents than he was with them. It felt wrong on every level. She wanted to tell him he deserved to have been begged to stay home by people who cared, like she had been, but instead she handed him her phone.
“Those kids are better off the farther away from him they are.”
He looked at the phone like it was going to bite him. “I won’t.”
“Then I will, as soon as he shows up tomorrow night.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She pressed the phone into his hands, watching with both relief and awe as, holding back tears, he slowly called 9-1-1. | English | NL | bdb721dab71e6b44efa04fc4fe1b367f130a1e3f89cb3ecce72c88e271c75174 |
I saw him right before Max did. When he did, his gasped "Fuck" magnified the jump of fear made by my body when I found myself standing merely two feet from an alien. His large bottomless black eyes were staring emptily into mine and I could see the blood vessels pulsate across his large conical-shaped brain. The groves along the sides of his face were as dark as his eyes, the edges moving rhythmically like the gills of a fish. There was no mouth where his thin lips had previously been. Instead there were two parallell lines going vertically up his chin, with holes going straight into the lower part of his face. He was no longer hiding behind his human face, but there was no mistaking who was standing motionless in front of us. There was no mistaking the darkness around his body. And right now he was trying to dig into our connection by staring at us. It could be likened to someone pushing a screwdriver into your brain through your eye. I fell backwards a step, Max's grip on my hand tightening while I simultaneously saw the shimmering field separating us from Command thicken. Command's plan was a simple, but excellent, one. I hated the sight of him, still I couldn't take my eyes off him. Those empty eyes positioned in that thick reptilian-like skinned face with those flapping breathing holes made me wish I had never been born. I wouldn't give up. I would fight until the end. But I would be lying to myself if I didn't admit that I was scared out of my wits. *************************** UNBREAKABLE - A BEAUTIFUL LIE is the tale of lost civilizations, aliens, hybrids, secrets and the forced bridge between two worlds. But mostly, it's about love. The forbidden love between a hybrid boy and a human girl. Author's Note: The characters are based on the characters from the TV-show "Roswell". This story does not follow the original outline/plot of the show, but still focuses on occult topics. | English | NL | f4e9aa44d90e6a418861439c0866a3ea46d1d6df7d845caa849bddce2f060bbd |
connecting people to the gospel
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1 After these things there was a feast of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 2 Now there is in Jerusalem by the sheep gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew Bethesda, having five porticoes. 3 In these lay a multitude of those who were sick, blind, lame, and withered, [waiting for the moving of the waters; 4 for an angel of the Lord went down at certain seasons into the pool and stirred up the water; whoever then first, after the stirring up of the water, stepped in was made well from whatever disease with which he was afflicted.] 5 A man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there, and knew that he had already been a long time in that condition, He said to him, Do you wish to get well? 7 The sick man answered Him, Sir, I have no man to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, but while I am coming, another steps down before me. 8 Jesus said to him, Get up, pick up your pallet and walk. 9 Immediately the man became well, and picked up his pallet and began to walk. 10 So the Jews were saying to the man who was cured, It is the Sabbath, and it is not permissible for you to carry your pallet. 11 But he answered them, He who made me well was the one who said to me, Pick up your pallet and walk. 12 They asked him, Who is the man who said to you, Pick up your pallet and walk? 13 But the man who was healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had slipped away while there was a crowd in that place. 14 Afterward Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, Behold, you have become well; do not sin anymore, so that nothing worse happens to you. 15 The man went away, and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well. 16 For this reason the Jews were persecuting Jesus, because He was doing these things on the Sabbath. 17 But He answered them, My Father is working until now, and I Myself am working. 18 For this reason therefore the Jews were seeking all the more to kill Him, because He not only was breaking the Sabbath, but also was calling God His own Father, making Himself equal with God. 19 Therefore Jesus answered and was saying to them, Truly, truly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of Himself, unless it is something He sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, these things the Son also does in like manner. 20 For the Father loves the Son, and shows Him all things that He Himself is doing; and the Father will show Him greater works than these, so that you will marvel. 21 For just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, even so the Son also gives life to whom He wishes. 22 For not even the Father judges anyone, but He has given all judgment to the Son, 23 so that all will honor the Son even as they honor the Father. He who does not honor the Son does not honor the Father who sent Him. 24 Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life. 25 Truly, truly, I say to you, an hour is coming and now is, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live. 26 For just as the Father has life in Himself, even so He gave to the Son also to have life in Himself; 27 and He gave Him authority to execute judgment, because He is the Son of Man. 28 Do not marvel at this; for an hour is coming, in which all who are in the tombs will hear His voice, 29 and will come forth; those who did the good deeds to a resurrection of life, those who committed the evil deeds to a resurrection of judgment. 30 I can do nothing on My own initiative. As I hear, I judge; and My judgment is just, because I do not seek My own will, but the will of Him who sent Me. 31 If I alone testify about Myself, My testimony is not true. 32 There is another who testifies of Me, and I know that the testimony which He gives about Me is true. 33 You have sent to John, and he has testified to the truth. 34 But the testimony which I receive is not from man, but I say these things so that you may be saved. 35 He was the lamp that was burning and was shining and you were willing to rejoice for a while in his light. 36 But the testimony which I have is greater than the testimony of John; for the works which the Father has given Me to accomplish--the very works that I do--testify about Me, that the Father has sent Me. 37 And the Father who sent Me, He has testified of Me. You have neither heard His voice at any time nor seen His form. 38 You do not have His word abiding in you, for you do not believe Him whom He sent. 39 You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; it is these that testify about Me; 40 and you are unwilling to come to Me so that you may have life. 41 I do not receive glory from men; 42 but I know you, that you do not have the love of God in yourselves. 43 I have come in My Fathers name, and you do not receive Me; if another comes in his own name, you will receive him. 44 How can you believe, when you receive glory from one another and you do not seek the glory that is from the one and only God? 45 Do not think that I will accuse you before the Father; the one who accuses you is Moses, in whom you have set your hope. 46 For if you believed Moses, you would believe Me, for he wrote about Me. 47 But if you do not believe his writings, how will you believe My words?
1 After these things Jesus went away to the other side of the Sea of Galilee (or Tiberias). 2 A large crowd followed Him, because they saw the signs which He was performing on those who were sick. 3 Then Jesus went up on the mountain, and there He sat down with His disciples. 4 Now the Passover, the feast of the Jews, was near. 5 Therefore Jesus, lifting up His eyes and seeing that a large crowd was coming to Him, said to Philip, Where are we to buy bread, so that these may eat? 6 This He was saying to test him, for He Himself knew what He was intending to do. 7 Philip answered Him, Two hundred denarii worth of bread is not sufficient for them, for everyone to receive a little. 8 One of His disciples, Andrew, Simon Peters brother, said to Him, 9 There is a lad here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are these for so many people? 10 Jesus said, Have the people sit down. Now there was much grass in the place. So the men sat down, in number about five thousand. 11 Jesus then took the loaves, and having given thanks, He distributed to those who were seated; likewise also of the fish as much as they wanted. 12 When they were filled, He said to His disciples, Gather up the leftover fragments so that nothing will be lost. 13 So they gathered them up, and filled twelve baskets with fragments from the five barley loaves which were left over by those who had eaten. 14 Therefore when the people saw the sign which He had performed, they said, This is truly the Prophet who is to come into the world. 15 So Jesus, perceiving that they were intending to come and take Him by force to make Him king, withdrew again to the mountain by Himself alone. 16 Now when evening came, His disciples went down to the sea, 17 and after getting into a boat, they started to cross the sea to Capernaum. It had already become dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. 18 The sea began to be stirred up because a strong wind was blowing. 19 Then, when they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and drawing near to the boat; and they were frightened. 20 But He said to them, It is I; do not be afraid. 21 So they were willing to receive Him into the boat, and immediately the boat was at the land to which they were going. 22 The next day the crowd that stood on the other side of the sea saw that there was no other small boat there, except one, and that Jesus had not entered with His disciples into the boat, but that His disciples had gone away alone. 23 There came other small boats from Tiberias near to the place where they ate the bread after the Lord had given thanks. 24 So when the crowd saw that Jesus was not there, nor His disciples, they themselves got into the small boats, and came to Capernaum seeking Jesus. 25 When they found Him on the other side of the sea, they said to Him, Rabbi, when did You get here? 26 Jesus answered them and said, Truly, truly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled. 27 Do not work for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you, for on Him the Father, God, has set His seal. 28 Therefore they said to Him, What shall we do, so that we may work the works of God? 29 Jesus answered and said to them, This is the work of God, that you believe in Him whom He has sent. 30 So they said to Him, What then do You do for a sign, so that we may see, and believe You? What work do You perform? 31 Our fathers ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, HE GAVE THEM BREAD OUT OF HEAVEN TO EAT. 32 Jesus then said to them, Truly, truly, I say to you, it is not Moses who has given you the bread out of heaven, but it is My Father who gives you the true bread out of heaven. 33 For the bread of God is that which comes down out of heaven, and gives life to the world. 34 Then they said to Him, Lord, always give us this bread. 35 Jesus said to them, I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst. 36 But I said to you that you have seen Me, and yet do not believe. 37 All that the Father gives Me will come to Me, and the one who comes to Me I will certainly not cast out. 38 For I have come down from heaven, not to do My own will, but the will of Him who sent Me. 39 This is the will of Him who sent Me, that of all that He has given Me I lose nothing, but raise it up on the last day. 40 For this is the will of My Father, that everyone who beholds the Son and believes in Him will have eternal life, and I Myself will raise him up on the last day. 41 Therefore the Jews were grumbling about Him, because He said, I am the bread that came down out of heaven. 42 They were saying, Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How does He now say, I have come down out of heaven? 43 Jesus answered and said to them, Do not grumble among yourselves. 44 No one can come to Me unless the Father who sent Me draws him; and I will raise him up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, AND THEY SHALL ALL BE TAUGHT OF GOD. Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father, comes to Me. 46 Not that anyone has seen the Father, except the One who is from God; He has seen the Father. 47 Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes has eternal life. 48 I am the bread of life. 49 Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread which comes down out of heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down out of heaven; if anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever; and the bread also which I will give for the life of the world is My flesh. 52 Then the Jews began to argue with one another, saying, How can this man give us His flesh to eat? 53 So Jesus said to them, Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in yourselves. 54 He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day. 55 For My flesh is true food, and My blood is true drink. 56 He who eats My flesh and drinks My blood abides in Me, and I in him. 57 As the living Father sent Me, and I live because of the Father, so he who eats Me, he also will live because of Me. 58 This is the bread which came down out of heaven; not as the fathers ate and died; he who eats this bread will live forever. 59 These things He said in the synagogue as He taught in Capernaum. 60 Therefore many of His disciples, when they heard this said, This is a difficult statement; who can listen to it? 61 But Jesus, conscious that His disciples grumbled at this, said to them, Does this cause you to stumble? 62 What then if you see the Son of Man ascending to where He was before? 63 It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh profits nothing; the words that I have spoken to you are spirit and are life. 64 But there are some of you who do not believe. For Jesus knew from the beginning who they were who did not believe, and who it was that would betray Him. 65 And He was saying, For this reason I have said to you, that no one can come to Me unless it has been granted him from the Father. 66 As a result of this many of His disciples withdrew and were not walking with Him anymore. 67 So Jesus said to the twelve, You do not want to go away also, do you? 68 Simon Peter answered Him, Lord, to whom shall we go? You have words of eternal life. 69 We have believed and have come to know that You are the Holy One of God. 70 Jesus answered them, Did I Myself not choose you, the twelve, and yet one of you is a devil? 71 Now He meant Judas the son of Simon Iscariot, for he, one of the twelve, was going to betray Him.
1 After these things Jesus was walking in Galilee, for He was unwilling to walk in Judea because the Jews were seeking to kill Him. 2 Now the feast of the Jews, the Feast of Booths, was near. 3 Therefore His brothers said to Him, Leave here and go into Judea, so that Your disciples also may see Your works which You are doing. 4 For no one does anything in secret when he himself seeks to be known publicly. If You do these things, show Yourself to the world. 5 For not even His brothers were believing in Him. 6 So Jesus said to them, My time is not yet here, but your time is always opportune. 7 The world cannot hate you, but it hates Me because I testify of it, that its deeds are evil. 8 Go up to the feast yourselves; I do not go up to this feast because My time has not yet fully come. 9 Having said these things to them, He stayed in Galilee. 10 But when His brothers had gone up to the feast, then He Himself also went up, not publicly, but as if, in secret. 11 So the Jews were seeking Him at the feast and were saying, Where is He? 12 There was much grumbling among the crowds concerning Him; some were saying, He is a good man; others were saying, No, on the contrary, He leads the people astray. 13 Yet no one was speaking openly of Him for fear of the Jews. 14 But when it was now the midst of the feast Jesus went up into the temple, and began to teach. 15 The Jews then were astonished, saying, How has this man become learned, having never been educated? 16 So Jesus answered them and said, My teaching is not Mine, but His who sent Me. 17 If anyone is willing to do His will, he will know of the teaching, whether it is of God or whether I speak from Myself. 18 He who speaks from himself seeks his own glory; but He who is seeking the glory of the One who sent Him, He is true, and there is no unrighteousness in Him. 19 Did not Moses give you the Law, and yet none of you carries out the Law? Why do you seek to kill Me? 20 The crowd answered, You have a demon! Who seeks to kill You? 21 Jesus answered them, I did one deed, and you all marvel. 22 For this reason Moses has given you circumcision (not because it is from Moses, but from the fathers), and on the Sabbath you circumcise a man. 23 If a man receives circumcision on the Sabbath so that the Law of Moses will not be broken, are you angry with Me because I made an entire man well on the Sabbath? 24 Do not judge according to appearance, but judge with righteous judgment. 25 So some of the people of Jerusalem were saying, Is this not the man whom they are seeking to kill? 26 Look, He is speaking publicly, and they are saying nothing to Him. The rulers do not really know that this is the Christ, do they? 27 However, we know where this man is from; but whenever the Christ may come, no one knows where He is from. 28 Then Jesus cried out in the temple, teaching and saying, You both know Me and know where I am from; and I have not come of Myself, but He who sent Me is true, whom you do not know. 29 I know Him, because I am from Him, and He sent Me. 30 So they were seeking to seize Him; and no man laid his hand on Him, because His hour had not yet come. 31 But many of the crowd believed in Him; and they were saying, When the Christ comes, He will not perform more signs than those which this man has, will He? 32 The Pharisees heard the crowd muttering these things about Him, and the chief priests and the Pharisees sent officers to seize Him. 33 Therefore Jesus said, For a little while longer I am with you, then I go to Him who sent Me. 34 You will seek Me, and will not find Me; and where I am, you cannot come. 35 The Jews then said to one another, Where does this man intend to go that we will not find Him? He is not intending to go to the Dispersion among the Greeks, and teach the Greeks, is He? 36 What is this statement that He said, You will seek Me, and will not find Me; and where I am, you cannot come? 37 Now on the last day, the great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. 38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture said, From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water. 39 But this He spoke of the Spirit, whom those who believed in Him were to receive; for the Spirit was not yet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified. 40 Some of the people therefore, when they heard these words, were saying, This certainly is the Prophet. 41 Others were saying, This is the Christ. Still others were saying, Surely the Christ is not going to come from Galilee, is He? 42 Has not the Scripture said that the Christ comes from the descendants of David, and from Bethlehem, the village where David was? 43 So a division occurred in the crowd because of Him. 44 Some of them wanted to seize Him, but no one laid hands on Him. 45 The officers then came to the chief priests and Pharisees, and they said to them, Why did you not bring Him? 46 The officers answered, Never has a man spoken the way this man speaks. 47 The Pharisees then answered them, You have not also been led astray, have you? 48 No one of the rulers or Pharisees has believed in Him, has he? 49 But this crowd which does not know the Law is accursed. 50 Nicodemus (he who came to Him before, being one of them) said to them, 51 Our Law does not judge a man unless it first hears from him and knows what he is doing, does it? 52 They answered him, You are not also from Galilee, are you? Search, and see that no prophet arises out of Galilee. 53 [Everyone went to his home. | English | NL | 596f4ddfe24ca9002f29daaa25d578929012ac4c6ffc8836dc95bd07239834fe |
Colonel Ichabod Conk was a dapper young rogue with fire in his eyes and velvet in his voice. His early life is obscured in history, but what is known of his exploits is legend. In 1866, soon after the Civil War made him a pauper, he traveled to Albuquerque, New Mexico. After living there a short time, Col. Conk began to date a woman who owned several barber shops. She shaved men’s faces daily, and after Col. Conk married her, he also became proficient in the barbering profession, helping his wife with her customers, and keeping her books. Using the entrepreneurial spirit he had always had, Col. Conk had a magnificent idea, “Why can’t I package the products we are using every day, and sell them across the west?” Thus he became one of the original traveling salesmen, crisscrossing the old west, affording an opportunity for the men of the frontier to obtain shaving products and toiletries to use on their own. | English | NL | 0d28fafc3a939795e4dade0a46a22428524a85873e5ab65305d3850962b46efd |
Crate training your dog can be very beneficial to both you and your dog. Although some owners will sometimes see sending your dog to his crate as a punishment, when introduced properly, it can be a safe space for your dog to feel secure and relax.
It is a great idea to crate training almost any dog. Every person as well as dog should have at least one place that they can feel safe and peaceful. When lined with a comfy bed or blanket, your dog will feel nice and cozy in his crate and many dogs will sleep more soundly at night when put into their crate. Leaving your dog constant access to his crate will allow him to separate himself if he feels too overwhelmed or stressed.
Crate training is also extremely helpful if you are potty training your dog. Most dogs do not want to soil their sleeping quarters, so they are more likely to try and stay clean when in their crate. When potty training, it is vital to not leave your dog in his crate for too long (longer than he is able to go without relieving himself). It is a good idea to give your dog lots of bathroom breaks when potty training, especially 20-30 min after eating as that is the typical time they will need to go. Make sure you aren’t leaving your dog in his crate for too long, you don’t want him to resort to doing his business inside the crate and then getting too used to that habit.
When looking for a crate for your dog, make certain it is not too small or too big. Also take into account if he has anymore growing to do. A crate that is too small for your dog will make him feel uncomfortable and cramped, ensuring that he will not be very happy to go into the crate. And there is no need to get the biggest dog crate on the market when you have a miniature or toy breed dog. Bigger is not always better, most dogs will appreciate having a crate the perfect size for them so they can move around comfortably but also be nice and cozy. Make sure that when your dog is in his crate, he can easily stand up straight with approximately 3-6 inches of extra space above his head; as well as able to turn around in his crate easily.
To help your dog have a positive association with his crate, do not force or push him in to it. Leave the door open to the crate so you can let him investigate it at his own pace. If he looks curious and starts sniffing the crate, or even starts to wander inside, give him lots of praise! Help him to realize that the crate is a happy place and not a punishment.
Ensuring that your dog has a safe place to escape to is just one of the many responsibilities a pet parent has. It is up to you to help your dog realize that his crate is not a punishment, but instead, his own little private space if he feels stressed or just wants a peaceful place to sleep. An easy mistake to make is not having the right size crate for your dog which can often make or break your efforts. Make sure it is not only the right size, but also appealing for your dog; adding in a dog bed or even a t-shirt with your scent on it will help make a little sanctuary for your furry best friend. | English | NL | ad6e58bd896275b4ec9d5a61d280b831f969547838a3261c0e76905bbcaabd93 |
Billy woke in an instant; his eyes flew open the moment a question popped in his mind. He sat up in his sleeping bag and looked around for Vanilla hoping she had the answer. Vanilla was sitting at the edge of the lake looking through a telescope. It was pointed upward at the purple sky above the orange band of the rising sun. As he stood up to walk to her Billy wondered why time was stopped. He could feel the slight resistance around him as he moved. It felt almost like he was moving in water but not as severe. Despite moving through frozen time often this was the first time he noticed the sensation. Now he had two questions for Vanilla.
His footsteps crushed dozens of twigs and leaves as he walked. Vanilla turned from the telescope to face him. Over the past few months, Billy noticed Vanilla getting sadder. She still made the effort to wear a smile for him, but he could tell it was a mask. That morning the mask was gone entirely. She looked like she’d been crying, but she gave him a friendly, sincere smile when she saw him. She stood up and gestured for him to sit at the telescope.
“You have questions,” she said in a tone that would have made him feel embarrassed if he didn’t. He nodded. Before he could ask Vanilla held her finger up to keep him quiet. “Look through there,” she pointed at the telescope. “Tell me what you see.” Billy leaned into the eyepiece. He saw exactly what he expected to see.
“Black sky and twinkling stars,” he said. He shrugged and leaned back from the eyepiece to look at Vanilla. He felt the resistance of frozen time around him again as he moved. “Heeeeey. How does that work?” he said. Vanilla winked at him.
“There you go,” she said. “Think about that…,” she pointed at the sky. “…for a while. We’ll talk about it after your questions. What do you want to know first?” Billy narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.
“Well, now I want to know why you’re so sure I had questions?” He asked. Vanilla nodded.
“That’s a good one,” she said. Vanilla thought for a moment then held her hands out in front of her as if she were holding an invisible box. “Okay, let’s say you have an organized drawer of whatever. Socks, soup cans, a place for everything and everything in its place, right?” she asked. Billy nodded. “Great, now. One day you go out and buy a lot more stuff. You come home and throw all the new stuff in the box on top of everything that’s already organized. Your plan is to kind of sort it out it little by little every time you reach in the box.”
“No. That’s a horrible plan I’d organize it then and there,” Billy said. He sounded insulted. Vanilla giggled and dropped the invisible box.
“Maybe. The point is that’s how your mind works. Last night you got a lot of new information dumped on your brain. So much that you don’t even know what you know yet. That’s why you have questions.”
“How much could he have known? He wasn’t even Awakened yet.” Billy asked about last night’s victim.
“You absorbed his soul, not his brain,” Vanilla said. “What else is on your mind?” Billy decided to finally ask the question that woke him up.
“What’s the Void?” he asked.
“Ha!” Vanilla laughed then wiggled her fingers at the space between them and opened a small, apple-sized portal. The small black hole hovered in the air facing Billy.
“On the other side of that portal is a different Earth. But to get there we travel through the Void.”
“Huh,” Billy scratched his head. “I was so curious that I thought it’d be more interesting.”
“It is,” Vanilla said. “but you’ve never heard of her.” Billy swiveled his head around to scan the lakeshore but did not see anyone.
“Her who?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you right now, but this is a fantastic learning opportunity,” Vanilla said. She placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. She did not look as sad as a few minutes ago. “Last night you learned something you didn’t already know. When you asked about the Void that was the first in a long line of questions that won’t end until you hear her name.” Vanilla tapped his forehead. “And then you’ll have a million more. So I want you to pay attention to how you feel when I say it. Okay?” she asked. Billed looked up at her and nodded, then he closed his eyes to listen.
“Ready,” he said. | English | NL | ee5940e4e2518cf52eae521b2d57273525f4e196fd4eec840d637ede5924dfa3 |
Rule breaker, p.21
Part #20 of Breeds series by Lora Leigh
e his action, Dane found himself flat on his ass, the razor-sharp claw-tipped fingers Rule hadn’t known he possessed before tonight pressing into vulnerable flesh, tasting Dane’s blood.
Rule could see the blood staining the claws. He could smell it, though he was reasonably certain the hardened tips pressing into the hybrid Breed’s throat weren’t causing fatal damage.
Not that Vanderale acted as though he gave a damn. He was still smiling in cold, brutal mockery, despite the smell of his blood in the air.
“Rule.” It was the sound of his brother’s voice, once the alpha who ruled the small pack Rule had been born into before the labs were overthrown, penetrating his senses.
They weren’t in those labs anymore.
And Lawe wasn’t his alpha.
In this matter, no fucking man, or Breed, commanded him.
The animal snarled.
The enraged, primal sound that tore from his throat, directed at Dane, would shock him later. For now, he could only let the animal reign.
Dane actually flinched at the sound.
That reaction, as small and involuntary as it was, was all he needed.
Bounding back, Rule fought the savagery mounting inside him until slowly he felt the claws retract once again, just as the lobby doors swooshed open and Jonas, along with six hard-eyed enforcers, stepped into the predawn night.
“Do we have a problem?” Jonas made no move to give a show of strength. He didn’t cross his arms over his broad chest, prop his hands on his hips or glare.
He voiced the question evenly while the silver in his eyes swirled like thunderclouds preparing to burst.
“Ah, little brother.” Dane was back on his feet, relighting that damned cigar. “Did you come to rescue me?”
Dane was seriously amused now. And that was dangerous. Even the animal inside Rule stepped back a safe distance until it could ascertain the hybrid’s next move.
Jonas grunted at the question. “Actually, Dane, I think whatever sliced your throat should have gone for your tongue.” He turned to Rule then. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Goddamned nosy-assed Breeds,” Rule growled, refusing to back down. “Get the fuck out of my business.”
“He ran his little mate off,” Dane drawled, though he kept a wary eye on Rule now. “In tears. I scented them even as she rushed from the lobby earlier. Newly mated, hurting and frightened. Shamed.” He turned to Lawe. “Sorry, Justice, but that jacket of yours that you placed over her shoulders did nothing to dilute the scent of the Breed that marked her.”
“There’s no fucking mark,” Rule snarled.
Dane gave a mocking little sneer, but it was Lawe’s reaction that held Rule. His brother frowned back at him as though disappointed.
“I didn’t mark her.” Rule shook his head. “I would know if I bit her, dammit.”
“You did something,” Lawe assured him then, and Rule knew if there was one thing his brother wouldn’t do, he would never lie to him. “It was weak, Rule, but the mating scent was there. And the Breed who drove her home reported that the scent only grew stronger after she left. Whatever you did, she’s in Mating Heat.”
She would be in pain.
He hadn’t fully satisfied her. Not enough to still the fires that would begin burning in her.
He rubbed his tongue against his teeth to still that faint irritation—
And he froze.
The glands weren’t swollen, they weren’t really sensitive, yet it was there. A faint taste of sweet heat he couldn’t quite identify. An unfamiliar sensitivity.
He shook his head sharply.
What the fuck was going on?
“He doesn’t believe he marked his little mate when she was no more than a child,” Dane drawled then, directing the comment to Jonas.
Rule watched as Jonas’s gaze flicked to Dane before he shook his head warily, warning the hybrid from saying more. The truth was in the director’s eyes, though, as they met Rule’s once again.
“I didn’t touch her,” Rule snapped as he turned on Dane again. “What the fuck kind of monster do you take me for? To suggest I’d touch a child in such a way?”
Surprise flickered in the icy green eyes. “I don’t believe you mated her. I said you marked her. You found a way to have your scent placed on her, and it stuck. Just as nature intended it to.”
“You gave the female enforcer present there your shirt to put on her as we pulled those Coyotes off her body. You collected her blanket and handed it to the enforcer who brought it in to her,” Jonas broke in. “He’s not lying, Rule. Even I sensed your claim on her that night.”
Rule shook his head in confusion. “I only saw her for a moment.”
They all turned to him then.
“When?” It was Lawe who asked the question roughly. “You were never in the cavern other than those first moments.”
“The hell I wasn’t,” Rule snarled back. “I was there long enough that the scent of her pain was like an insult to my senses. It was my weapon that fired, along with Jonas’s, and killed Grody. I saw what they were going to do to her. Do you think I stayed out of the cavern? That I’m not intelligent enough to know how to direct cleanup and keep my eye on what the hell is going on as well?”
He’d shot before he’d even processed what was going on.
That huge fucking Coyote had been between a child’s thighs as she screamed for her brother. Those jagged, wrenching screams of rage and pain had been more than the animal inside him could allow. Two others held her down while two more waited behind their leader to have their turn with her.
Rule barely remembered those moments. Seeing the horror of it, the scent of her pain and fear, the agonizing scent of her self-blame and terror that had wrapped around her like a living blanket, had enraged him.
He’d taken out two of the Coyotes before the other shots had been fired.
“Hell, I didn’t even realize—” Jonas shook his head, staring at Rule as though seeing him for the first time. “When I first realized she’d been claimed, even I was unaware it was you for a while.”
“I didn’t fucking claim her,” he snapped. “She was a child.”
What did they take him for anyway?
Rule scratched at the irritating little itch beneath his tongue by rubbing it against his teeth again.
He’d had enough.
He turned, stalking off into the parking lot and heading for the secured parking area where he’d left the Dragoon he’d driven in the night before.
“Where the fuck are you going?” It was Lawe, moving in beside him, who dared to ask that question.
Rule paused long enough to snarl out, “To get my fucking mate.”
To ensure that the cackling South African bastard with a death wish didn’t make the mistake of touching what wasn’t his to touch. Because Dane’s death could cause Jonas more problems than he caused the director breathing.
“It may be too late, Rule.” His brother caught at his shoulder, forcing him to a stop despite the animal snarling inside him. “Listen to me, dammit, I don’t know what you did to her, what you said to her, but the woman who left here tonight was not the woman who went up with you. Whatever happened, she was . . .” Lawe breathed out roughly. “It was like you broke something.”
Rule’s jaw tightened. “She’s still the same woman. I didn’t break anything, dammit. She’s pissed.”
“She’s not pissed,” Lawe denied in confusion. “You changed her, Rule. You took something from her, and I don’t know if you can fix it.”
Jerking from his brother’s grip, he threw a disgruntled snarl his way before turning and moving more quickly than before for the Dragoon. Lawe was wrong, he had to be wrong. Gypsy would forgive him, she wouldn’t have a choice.
She was his mate.
The Unknown had trained her once they’d realized they couldn’t contro
Quickly pulling the satellite phone she’d safely stored in a hidden pocket of her dress, she dialed her contact’s number.
“Whisper?” he answered before the first ring had completed.
“Extraction needed from primary residence,” she requested softly. “Importance classified as immediate.”
“Negative. Extraction denied.”
She couldn’t have heard correctly.
“Breeds are surrounding the primary residence,” she fought to speak, her throat tightening in near fear. “Extraction imperative.”
“Extraction denied, Whisper,” he answered again, this time, more gently. “You slept with Breaker. You’re marked as his mate.”
She was barely aware of her head shaking slowly, denial ripping through her senses at the knowledge that no extraction would be forthcoming.
“What? . . .”
“You were told no lovers for a reason. Take a human lover and his prejudice could prejudice you. A Breed lover, and the chances of becoming mated and giving that lover complete loyalty was far too high. This is the last time this number will be answered.”
“You promised,” she retorted, her voice hoarse. “You said you would never desert me . . .”
“I said I would always listen to my voice mail. You didn’t just take a lover, Whisper. You made certain I can’t interfere. Not for a Breed mate,” he informed her, his voice soft, though without mercy. “The Breeds coming for you were sent by your lover. Our protection is no longer required.”
The line disconnected.
Gypsy didn’t pause to think.
In a matter of seconds the dress was lying on her bed in a heap of rich material as she dug into the side of her mattress and pulled the black skin suit she used to slip through the night when she herself didn’t want to be seen.
Pulling the tough material of the form-fitting pants and long-sleeved shirt on, she slipped the scent blocker from a hidden pocket, tucked it quickly under her tongue and hoped she had enough time for it to take effect.
She was praying they weren’t expecting her to leave the apartment and weren’t watching for her. If they were, as well trained as they were, then her chances of escaping would be limited. And she was betting they would be watching for her.
Was that why Rule had jumped from her?
Had he somehow sensed or scented something that gave her away? Had she somehow managed to leave her scent behind the night she had searched his rooms? Whatever she had done, if she had done anything, there was no doubt no chances would be taken in their effort to take her now, if she was indeed his mate.
She’d heard whispers of mating, though not since Jonas Wyatt and his men had arrived in Window Rock.
Mating was forever, it was told. White-hot sexual need, blinding hunger, complete loyalty. Not a single Breed wife, lover or so-called mate had ever given the secrets of the Breeds to anyone willing to tell them.
Each one had fallen easily beneath her Breed’s spell.
She sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for them. She was going to get the hell out of there and get out fast. She had never depended upon her contact or the Unknown to ensure her safety. Mark had taught her better than that. He had died awaiting help, awaiting extraction. She’d always sworn she would never make the same mistake.
Less than a minute later she was moving silently down the narrow, dusty steps set between the walls, a little hidden access her brother had shown her in the old store when she was barely a teenager. This was the reason why she had taken the second-floor apartment rather than the first. There was no access to the staircase from the first floor. And no way to know that it led to a small tunnel that exited on the same small street where the only other person who might help her lived.
Cullen lived in a small house at the end of the street, his sheltered backyard less than ten feet from the exit.
Her contact had told her once that if she was ever in trouble with no way to contact him or, for whatever reason, unwilling to contact him, Cullen would help her. Besides, Cullen was her boss, and she knew he liked her. Surely he wouldn’t turn his back on her too?
But was it really only what she deserved?
The distant thought had her breathing hitching on a sob.
She’d never paid for leading her brother into a trap, not really. Not as she had expected to. Was this her penance instead? To realize that despite years of trying to ensure loyalties, she’d failed at the most elemental level and was just as alone as she had been the night she stood in the dark watching her parents turn from her?
If it was her punishment, she’d accept it. She couldn’t fight what couldn’t be changed.
But God, surely there was someone she could depend on.
She knew Cullen, and she trusted him.
At this moment, she had no other place to turn. The Unknown considered her compromised, Rule had thrown her away. He wasn’t sending Breeds to protect her. To secure her perhaps, but not to protect her. Somehow, she must have betrayed herself, that was all it could have been. There was no reason for Breeds to be surrounding her apartment other than to arrest her for some reason.
She’d read nothing in Breed Law about any statutes against running from the asshole Breed who didn’t know how to be a lover.
Climbing silently from the ravine above the storm drain the tunnel led into, she checked the area quickly before making her way into the tree line that surrounded Cullen’s adobe house.
The small house was inconspicuous. It was a bachelor’s home, but Gypsy knew things about that house that she doubted anyone else knew. Things her brother had told her about ways into it, out of it and a maze of hidden caves beneath it. She had no doubt in her mind that Cullen was well aware of them as well.
It wasn’t the only house in town with hidden access, or hidden tunnels. It wasn’t the only house with a history, and her brother had, for some reason, made certain she’d known about all of the ones he’d been aware of.
Moving slowly to the back of the house, she kept her eyes moving constantly, watching the shadows she hovered within, certain no one would be watching for her there, but unwilling to take any chances.
Sweat gathered along her body beneath the wicking fabric of the outfit she wore. The unusual summer heat soaked her skin and her hairline far quicker than usual. The fabric felt itchy against her flesh, the arousal Rule had left burning in her body tormenting her now. The fact that she couldn’t just ignore it was pissing her off too.
She wanted to hate him.
Tears threatened to spill from her eyes as she paused next to one of the large trees at the edge of the house. Forcing herself to catch her breath for a second, she watched the area carefully, desperately searching for some sign of Cullen.
Or any Breeds that could have followed her.
Nothing moved but a light breeze. Nothing could be heard but the sparse traffic several streets over and the crickets that chirped playfully among the leaves of the trees.
Reaching to her hip, she slid the sat phone from her belt and activated it silently to call Cullen before barging in on him.
“No need to call. I’m right here.”
The low, cross male voice had her ducking quickly and moving to the other side of the tree as her weapon cleared its holster.
“It’s Cullen, Gypsy,” he sighed.
Stepping from behind the tree, she faced him warily, her emotions uneven, fear, anger and desperation filling her.
“I’m being hunted,” she whispered. “And denied extraction by someone I’ve been helping. I was once told you would help . . .” But not if the Unknown themselves denied her.
Her voice was too rough, the tears she held back too close to falling. She’d been betrayed by the lover she’d given up r
What was there left to lose?
“Come on.” He strode past her to the back door. “I knew you’d end up here when I received the report of those Breeds positioning themselves around the store. I’ll put some coffee on and you can tell me what the hell’s going on.”
Tugging at the neckline of her black shirt before rubbing at her shoulder and the irritation of the material, she followed him silently until they were safely locked on the other side of the door. The room they stepped into was shadowed and cool.
He didn’t turn any lights on, but it was far easier to see him now. He moved through the kitchen they’d entered before stopping at the coffeepot and flipping it on. The sound of hot water flowed into the filter as the scent of coffee reached her senses.
“Did you take one of the scent blockers?” he asked, his back still to her.
“Yes,” she answered, staring around the kitchen curiously. “I came through the tunnels, but the entrance to them should be safe.”
For the most part, Cullen’s home was devoid of personalization. The normal appliances were there, but little decoration with the exception of a small crystal fairy and a six-inch dagger with a mother-of-pearl hilt sitting on the small breakfast counter between the kitchen and darkened living area.
“It’s your apartment.” He shrugged. “Your scent permeates it anyway. Your escape should have been undetectable if anyone entered it.”
Turning back to him, she frowned at the comment. “If? Why would they have been there if not to come after me? They were surrounding the place like SWAT or something.”
He grunted at that. “They were there in a surveillance capacity alone. Trust me, if they were there to take you, you wouldn’t have seen them before they were in the apartment. The threat wasn’t from the Breeds sent to watch out for you, it’s the Breed who should be arriving at your place the moment he’s realized you’ve run from him. The security team was sent to protect you until he managed to get his head out of his ass.”
Her heart jumped in her chest. “What do you mean by that?”
Choosing two cups from the cupboard, he poured their coffee before picking them up and turning back to her to nod at the breakfast counter. “Have a seat. We have to talk.”
She suddenly felt like a teenager being called down by the principal. She’d not even experienced that in school.
“Why are Breeds surrounding my house, Cullen?” she asked as she slid into one of the high stools and pushed back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder.
She hadn’t even had time to braid it before running. It still hung down her back in a riot of carefully arranged curls as the front and sides fell from where it was secured at the crown of her head.
“This is a fucking mess,” Cullen sighed roughly as he lifted his cup, pausing at his lips as amusement flickered in his gaze. “Amusing, but a fucking mess.”
Her eyes narrowed at the casual arrogance in his voice.
“And what has you so damned amused?” Leaning forward, her forearms braced on the counter as her gaze narrowed on him, Gypsy promised herself she wouldn’t tell him what a complete asshole he was being.
“You have me amused.” Once he made that cryptic comment, the cup touched his lips and he sipped from the heated liquid.
He didn’t appear in any hurry to tell her exactly what had him so damned amused at her expense, though.
As he returned the cup to the counter, still watching her silently, Gypsy sat back on her stool, her head tilting to the side.
Crossing her arms over her breasts, she watched him angrily, waiting, and it wasn’t patiently.
He merely stared back at her with a hint of a smile on his face.
“What kind of game are you playing with me?” she asked him, suspicion beginning to grow within her. “And why?”
She’d known him for years, had worked for him at the Navajo Covert Law Enforcement office for the last few years. He had been a friend of her brother’s, though he hadn’t arrived in Window Rock until after Mark’s death. He’d quickly become a friend of her parents’, and of hers and Kandy’s. She had always known he was arrogant, but this cool, merciless amusement she hadn’t seen in him before.
“No game, Gypsy,” he promised, flashing her a quick smile as he lifted the coffee cup to his lips once again and sipped. Lowering it, he sat back as well. “My only intent is to do whatever I can to help you. I knew Mark was an informant for an unidentified group that aided the Breeds, and I greatly admired him for it. Just as I’ve always suspected you were as well.”
Well, didn’t he just know a whole lot of nothing.
At least, according to him.
“You aren’t part of that group, then?” She had wondered, she had hoped he was part of it, just for her own safety.
“Don’t ask questions.” His voice hardened, as did his gaze. “You’re only going to waste our time, and we don’t have long before that Breed you ran from finds you.”
“I took the scent blocker.” Her head was shaking before she could stop it.
“There are instances when the scent blocker doesn’t work,” he informed her, his voice still as hard as stone, his gaze icy. “I rather doubt it’s working now. Any Breed who gets within a quarter mile of this place will know a Breed mate is in the vicinity once he catches the scent of Mating Heat I’m sure is rolling off you at the moment. At the most, we may have an hour before he arrives, simply because it should take that long before a team passes by here. If we’re lucky.”
If they were lucky.
The irritation along her flesh was growing worse, amplifying the longer she sat there. The arousal Rule
Rule Breaker by Lora Leigh / Romance & Love / Fantasy have rating 4.3 out of 5 / Based on47 votes | English | NL | a980aded8a679032039f051186f356e0a8cc283c91228d21c776f54f81d661e0 |
Incognito was perched at the very top. It was a beautiful summer’s day. The leaves in the tree rustled as the soft, gentle breeze caressed its branches. From this vantage point, he had an excellent 360 degree view of his surroundings.
Breathing softly, he carefully and ever so slowly moved his head, scanning with eagle eyes for anything untoward. Anything at all. Nothing. Good. His pursuer had obviously lost track of him and given up the chase. That had been an hour ago. Another hour of waiting would be worthwhile. He was used to waiting and watching. The last thing he needed was to be found. Not now. Not ever. Patience and vigilance were his best friends.
As he perched hidden in amongst the dense foliage of the tree’s canopy, he reflected back on the events that had led him here. Life had been routine. Normal even until a week ago. Is that all, he thought, in surprise. It seems like an eternity ago. Work, eat, sleep. Seven days a week. No social life. He didn’t have time or the inclination for it at present. Driven by a pressing need to earn as much money as he could in as short a time as possible, he had been pushing himself to the limit. This current job was almost finished. Just a few loose ends to tie up. At the very least another day perhaps two was all he needed.
His work paid extremely well. Contract work in a high risk business earned him top dollar. No unnecessary questions were ever asked by either party. This ensured absolute privacy for himself and his employer. Highly recommended by people who knew his skill sets and reputation for meticulous, expert work and attention to detail had led to this current job. No-one knew him by name. No-one had ever met him. Not that they knew of anyway. Work came his way by word of mouth through a complex and convoluted system. No-one other than himself knew it in its entirety.
It had been carefully developed and tweaked over many years. He was very pleased at how well it worked. There had been no breaches for many years. Until now it would seem. Comprised of ordinary looking parcels and envelopes delivered by couriers and postmen to many and varied locations, there was never any discernible pattern or trail that could be followed. Similarly for all electronic communications and cash transfers. The system changed with each new job. He had never once used the same process. Neither had he restricted his work to a narrow niche market. That would have put a mark on his back which he did not want.
So what had gone wrong this time? Had he let his guard down a notch? Become too complacent? No, his instincts were too finely honed to not alert him to that had it occurred. A sense of unease or a niggling doubt would tease at him until he found the source. Nothing like that had occurred in the last week. Everything seemed to be working as smoothly as a well-oiled engine. What had alerted him this morning was the feeling of being watched. Closely.
He first became aware of a faint unease at the gym during his daily workout. Never one to use the same gym at the same time, he had chosen one across town from his current lodgings. Travelling by bus, tram and foot, he had arrived there ready to move straight into his workout. After a solid hour of alternating cardio and weights, he headed to the showers. A brisk, quick cold shower and change into clean clothes saw him ready to start the day. Cooling down from the heavy workout as he walked to a nearby café for breakfast was the first time his sixth sense kicked in hard. He stopped as if to window shop. The reflections in the glass were sufficient for a first, quick scan of the street. Many years of practice had made him adept at this. It did not take long for him to find what he was looking for. Across the road he noticed someone doing the exact same thing he was.
Slowly, he moved off, walked a few paces, then stopped suddenly as if on an afterthought returning to the original window to look some more. The person across the road had moved to follow him and was momentarily caught off guard. They recovered quickly, but it was enough to confirm his suspicion.
Casually he sauntered into the nearby cafeteria and ordered a soya latte and croissant. Seating himself at a table close to the men’s room, he waited for his order to arrive. Service was efficient. It arrived in less than five minutes. Taking a few sips of coffee and a bite or two of his croissant, he nodded at some of the other customers seated close by. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the person following him had come in and ordered a take away coffee. An amateur then, he decided. No professional would risk exposing themselves in such a naïve manner.
Standing up, he walked to the counter and picked up the morning paper. Pretending to read it as he waited to pay, he accidentally nudged the elbow of his pursuer. Muttering an apology, he watched with amusement as a flicker of surprise and something else – was it a tinge of fear? – flicked across their face. Having paid for the paper he returned to his table to finish breakfast whilst he pretended to read it. It was time to go. He stood up, folded the newspaper neatly and left it on the table as he headed for the men’s room. That would stump her. She couldn’t follow him there!
He had cased this cafeteria previously so he knew that there was a side door he could use without having to return to the front. It led to a storage room with a door leading into a back alley. Quickly he slipped out. Finding a shadowy nook from which to survey the front entrance was no problem. He was well hidden. It took a surprising five minutes before she emerged, looking flustered and angry. Biting her lip, she turned her head this way and that scanning the sidewalks. Finally, shrugging her shoulders, she set off in the direction he had been walking before breakfast.
Of course what he did was totally outside the law. Never had he been caught. Unknown to the law by anything other than a shadow of whispers that followed a trail gone cold from previous jobs, he worked alone. They called him Incognito. He liked that. All information, instructions, negotiations, payments – in fact any necessary contact at all – was done strictly to his very stringent, non-negotiable rules and kept to an absolute minimum. If not, he simply walked away from the job. Simple as that. Some previous employers had tried to challenge it. Bend the rules. Make demands. Much to their regret and cost.
But now he had a problem to solve. Who was she? Why was she following him? Was it related to his current job? And last but by no means least just what was his best course of action? He had never seen her before. Of that he was absolutely certain. His eidetic memory enabled him to scan the files and photos in his head quickly and accurately. He slipped out of hiding and emerged into the main thoroughfare. Only to bump straight into her! She must have doubled backed. So, not so amateurish after all flashed into his head as he churlishly pushed her aside and strode off briskly.
The morning rush hour enabled him to blend into the crowd easily. Carefully he weaved his way making sure not to draw attention to himself. She kept him in sight. The girl was damn good, he thought. It would take all his skill to give her the slip after all. Adrenalin kicked in and the thrill of being pursued added an extra edge of excitement. He enjoyed the rush. Creativity, ingenuity and years of experience eventually helped him give her the slip. Just to make sure, he had climbed the tree he was now perched in. He had come across it just as he was looking for somewhere to hide. Waiting for a moment to make sure no-one was watching, he quickly scaled the trunk to the top.
A quick nap, he decided, would help to unwind him. Clear his head. And pass the time. It was something he did occasionally in situations like this, although he was not usually perched at the top of a tree. He woke with a start. That sixth sense hit him like a sledgehammer, knocking the breath out of him. Looking down, he was astounded to find that she was seated on the park bench next to his tree. She had been watching him. That’s what woke him up.
Smiling, she said “You may as well come down. I have something for you.” Having no other options, he reluctantly slid down to the ground. “You led me a right merry chase! I must say it was fun. I’m not sure why you did what you did. I just wanted to return this to you. You left it at the gym this morning.” With that, she handed him his mobile phone, wished him a good day and walked away.
Incognito smiled and followed his wife home. This job had been most satisfying.
© Raili Tanska
Steps for Peace
Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today,
and creates a vision for tomorrow. ~ Melody Beattie | English | NL | ecf3781fe53e134a73cdb5fdabc62cdbf57af644745d9e405fc850ed54a0ef2a |
|The Grating Wheel|
|Character/s in the cover||Kyoko Mogami|
The Grating Wheel is the 37th chapter of the Skip Beat! manga series.
Kyoko has successfully enters high school. She and Ren have another misunderstanding that hurts their new friendship. Popularity in the Curara commercial leads to a job offer for Kyoko... but it's with someone unexpected.
Kyoko has successfully made it into high school and is happily attending each day. The only problem is her class is made up entirely of kids who are artists.
All her classmates have mostly a strong, arrogant attitude and frequently leave early or take time off for work. Kyoko wonders if they even know she exists. One girl in particular, Mimori Nanokura, seems to have something against Kyoko for no real reason. However Kyoko is able to deal with her taunts easily since she's had to deal with this sort of thing her entire life as Sho's fans would frequently gang up on her. Mimori implies that Kyoko only got the jobs because of her company (LME) supplied them for her which annoys Kyoko.
Kyoko is riding home, wondering what Mimori's problem is, thinking she'll complain to Kanae about her. Then Kyoko catches sight of Kanae on the big screen in the middle of the intersection she is at. The Curara commercial featuring Kanae and Kyoko has started airing on television. People surrounding Kyoko at the pedestrian light highly praise Kanae for her performance, but don't seem to be very impressed by Kyoko (because of her appearance), saying she lacks charisma.
This makes Kyoko angry as the only people who have praised her for her work on the commercial are the people who know her. Implying that they feel obligated to do so since they are her acquaintances. The comment that she 'lacks charisma' irks her the most because it reminds her of Sho's insults. With this thought, Kyoko's face now looks demonic as she marches through Fuji TV and her grudges are swirling around her. Suddenly she starts vibrating causing 2 male staff members passing her to jump while exclaiming that she's possessed by evil spirits. Kyoko reaches into her pocket realizing its a call. The male staff members sigh in relief at this saying that she's so hard to understand.
She answers it thinking it must be Sawara as there's no caller ID showing (calls from the office don't show up) but she gets a shock when she recognizes the voice. It's Ren! Ren tells her off for walking around with such a scary face on as she counts as an artist now that she's appeared on TV. Surprised, Kyoko realizes he must be nearby if he can see her face, so she begins looking around for him. Ren goes on, saying that even if she isn't an artist she is still a lady and so shouldn't wear such a scary face. Kyoko then spots Yashiro on the balcony above, who is waving at her, and Ren, who is standing next to him, still on the phone to her.
Yashiro congratulates Kyoko on her commercial saying she looks really cute in it. Kyoko thanks him but looks rather irritated by it. Both Ren and Yashiro look at her puzzled wondering why she's angry. Kyoko is silent, thinking angrily that it only seems to be people who know her that say this. She brushes this off saying its boring talk and asks Ren how he knew her phone number. Yashiro is taken aback at the 'boring' comment, thinking wouldn't this be a very memorial commercial for her. Ren tells her that he'd been trying to find her so Sawara gave it to him. Kyoko is confused, wondering why he wanted to find her, did he need something. Ren tells her he does but that he's been very busy lately so he hasn't had a chance to contact her but fortunately Sawara told him he might find her here. This causes Kyoko to freak out, wondering if Sawara had revealed to Ren the fact she's Bo. Ren says he heard the job was part of her Love-Me Section work but she's not wearing the uniform. Relieved that he doesn't know, Kyoko informs him its merely by chance as she came straight from school. Inwardly Kyoko is glad that Sawara is a trustworthy person and hadn't revealed her identity. However Sawara is more afraid that if he betrayed there's no telling what revenge she'll take on him, probably remembering her frightening persistence when trying to get into LME.
Ren says this is good for he wanted to see how she looked in her school uniform. He says it suits her surprising both Yashiro and Kyoko and making them blush. Kyoko awkwardly thanks him for the compliment. Ren says he heard from the President that she got full marks on her entrance exam too and tells her she did very well. Yashiro is impressed by this and says Kyoko is amazing. Kyoko smiling, embarrassed at this, thanking him again. Kyoko says she really should thank Ren for this because it was due to his comment (that she doesn't need to get a perfect score) that freed her from the pressure she was feeling. He may have said it unintentionally but those words allowed her to fly and feel light-hearted so she really must thank him. She does so whilst doing her usual deep bow. Yashiro is looking a bit confused as he probably doesn't know what Kyoko is referring to but then he catches a glimpse of Ren's expression and quickly turns to look at him closely. Ren is looking at Kyoko, who is still bowing, with such a tender expression and a soft smile that Yashiro is taken aback.
Ren tells Kyoko that its he who should be thanking her. Kyoko, who just finished bowing looks up at him puzzled. Ren says this is the reason he come to find her today. Ren explains saying that one's attendance is the mark of a professional actor so as his manager it was because of her that he managed to get there on time (referring to when she used the bicycle to get him to the office on time). So he wanted to thank her for her efforts but since she swapped with Yashiro while he was working she was gone before he could do so that's why it took until now, which he apologizes for. Kyoko says no problem but both she and Yashiro feel like he's blaming them for this inconvenience. Kyoko had a job at lunch time that's why she had to leave, she's thinking worriedly about how many points he's going to give her and how scary waiting like this is. Ren has her Love-Me stamp book and is smiling as he gives her 100 points for being his temporary manager.
Kyoko tells Ren she would have never imagined that he would give her points. That she really didn't do anything worth thanking her for because looking after him when he was sick, cooking and protecting his attendance was all part of her duties as his manager. Yashiro disagrees with this, thinking only if they had a special relationship would they do so. Shocked he wonders if Kyoko might have feelings for Ren and tells her she's just being modest but Kyoko denies this saying if something went wrong it would be her fault. Kyoko says she did the job she was asked to the best of her abilities and modesty has nothing to do with it. Yashiro listens to her a bit drained, thinking that now it sounds like she was only doing it for self-satisfaction.
Ren is obviously listening to the exchange but has remained silent. He interrupts them, calling Kyoko "Mogami-san" which is new for her and hands back her stamp back. She takes it thanking it, thinking that since she's being his manager he's warmed up to her a little. Excited she looks at what stamp he's given her, however there are two now. A 100 point stamp and a negative 10 point stamp, which he totals to 90 points. Kyoko wonders why there is a deduction as he clearly stamped 100. Ren lies saying he didn't realize it wasn't the 90 point stamp. He apologizes for this while giving her his mesmerizing gentlemen smile.
Kyoko, knowing what this smile means, she yells that it's fake and she won't fall for it. She yells too that he probably suddenly changed his mind. Ren walks away as she yells this looking distinctly untroubled by this accusation. Kyoko runs after them still yelling that he's too much and how could he change his mind. Doesn't he feel that he's acting like a kid. Ren continue to denies her accusations saying he already told her he used the wrong stamp. He reminds her that she has a job and shouldn't she be going, probably hoping to change the topic. However Kyoko is undeterred and demands to know what was unsatisfactory about her that earned a deduction. REn tells her she is too suspicious and he really did use the wrong stamp. Kyoko says he is definitely lying. Yashiro is looking on quite taken aback at this passionate exchange and probably at the out-of-character behavior from Ren.
Meanwhile, back at the LME office, Sawara is talking to a coworker about the Curara commercial who said he heard good reviews about it. Sawara is relieved to hear this as they are the Love-Me members and hopes they might get another job from it. Coincidentally a call is then received from Queen Records who wish to use the two girls from the Curara CM in a Promotional Video for a new song by Sho Fuwa.
Characters in Order of Appearance | English | NL | b57ac2a2ef4d4f980a8034d068fb38a57f122451f91ee460da15ed26dcd4c9bd |
was born in 1964 and raised in Dublin and Donegal. While his education included Blackrock College, University College Dublin and Trinity College, his love of the music and language of his homeland came from his time as a student of Coláiste na Rinne [Ring College] which is located in part of the Irish speaking area of Co. Waterford.
After completing degrees in English Literature and Music he formed ANÚNA. Although he arrived late to singing, joining his first choral ensemble at the age of nineteen, his lack of experience of accepted choral ideas encouraged him to develop a new musical vocabulary both as a choral director and composer.
Today he is recognised as one of the leading choral composers of his generation and his music is performed all over the world. He is, and has been, an active workshop leader and mentor for performers and young composers with over two hundred young musicians having passed through his ensemble. Many of these have gone on to develop highly successful careers in diverse genres of music.
He is a tenor, film maker, record producer, composer and arranger. Michael lives in Dublin with his family and is an ardent year-round sea swimmer. | English | NL | 0c90cc785e640002d5a8210c18d867f9d061e85f9f339d46adf3384372ee3c1f |
John (Johnnie) Hughes was born in Flint in April, 1882 and was the youngest of two children to Thomas Hughes and Catherine (Williams). Johnnie’s elder brother, John, died in November, 1881 aged 18 months.
Catherine was previously married to Thomas Davies, who died in 1877, aged 45, and with whom she had five children. She married Thomas Hughes in 1879 and they resided in Mount Street, Flint, and by 1891 they had moved to 30, Earl Street.
When in his late teens Johnnie was employed as a bricksetter, and 10 years later he was still a bachelor living with his parents, at 78, Earl Street, working as a bricklayer’s labourer at the Holywell Road Silk Factory, Flint.
On 5th January, 1913 Johnnie’s father, Thomas, died at his home and is buried in an unmarked grave in the Northop Road Cemetery.
Mr Hughes was a native of Bagillt and had been in failing health for the last 12 months of his life, death being due to a growth in his lungs. He was a faithful member of the Seion Chapel, and was highly respected by all who knew him. He was also a member of the Ancient Order of Foresters, and was the third oldest member of the Flint Branch, having been in membership altogether over 47 years. He was employed as a chemical labourer at the Alkali Works.
Johnnie married Eleanor (Nellie) Wellings at the Sion Welsh Congregational Chapel, Hill Street, Flint on 13th December, 1916 by special licence. She was born in Leaton, Shropshire, and was a daughter of William Wellings, licensee of the Windmill Tavern, Nant y Flint, and his wife Elizabeth, and a sister to Private Ernest Price Wellings.
Nellie’s niece, the late Mrs Ethel Salisbury-McLaren, related the story that, when Nellie and Johnnie married, the registrar failed to turn up, so Nellie wouldn’t consummate the marriage. Johnnie returned to his regiment and in the early hours of one morning paid Nellie a visit whilst on a 48-hour furlough. Nellie was living with her parents at the Windmill Tavern, Nant y Flint, where she shared a room with her sister. She turned him away and said she would see him the next day, which she did, and they went to the Registrar’s Office, for on the marriage certificate is a side note that states: “In entry No 125 Col 2 for Ellen read Eleanor corrected on the 15th January 1917 by me James Jones Registrar in the presence of John Hughes & Eleanor Hughes. The Parties Married.” It also states the Registrar was present at the marriage ceremony.
Johnnie’s service record confirms that while he was stationed at Kinmel Park Camp, Rhyl, he left the camp at 11:30 pm on 14th January, 1917; except he was AWOL (absent without leave) and not on a Furlough.
He returned to camp at 8:00pm the following day. Lance Corporal Evans and Sergeant Welch were witnesses and he was “confined to barracks” for two days as punishment.
Mrs Salisbury-McLaren also stated that, as long as she lived, Nellie never felt she and Johnnie were really married. She had a boyfriend, named Jack Griffiths, who had a false leg and owned a shoe shop in the town and whom she courted before her marriage to Johnnie, and after he died, but she refused to marry him.
Private Hughes’ service record is as follows:
Enlisted in Flint, 23rd August, 1916, with the 13th Battalion Cheshire Regiment, No. 54667, attached to the 12th Welsh Regiment, and posted to a home base; previously served 36 days with the 9th Battalion Royal Welsh Fusiliers; transferred to the 8th Battalion Welsh Regiment, Indian Expeditionary Force, 12th February, 1917; embarked Devonport, 9th March, 1917; disembarked Bombay, 7th May, 1917; arrived Depot Kirkee, 7th May, 1917; admitted to hospital in Kirkee, 12th July, 1917, suffering from malarial fever with symptoms of vomiting and hallucinating. On enlistment he was 5ft 6 3⁄4ins, chest 39 1⁄2ins, weight 156lb, had flat feet, and his physical development was good; his wife, Eleanor, was awarded a widow’s pension of 13s 9d per week with effect from 28th January, 1918.
Private Hughes died on 20th July, 1917, at 10pm, at the Deccan British War Hospital, Poona, India, of Malaria.
He has no known grave but is commemorated on the Kirkee Memorial, Poona, India, on Face 6.
He is remembered on three war memorials: Flint Town, Seion Chapel, Hill Street, Flint and Oddfellows Hall, Flint, and was awarded the British War Medal and Victory Medal. He is also commemorated on the North Wales Heroes’ Memorial Arch, Bangor.
Private Hughes’ name was engraved twice on the Flint Town memorial because his mother and his wife put his name forward, and since they both gave a different address it wasn’t noticed they were one and the same.
Johnnie’s mother, Catherine, died on 1st September, 1931 and is buried in the Northop Road Cemetery, but not with either of her husbands.
Mrs Hughes, who was in her 92nd year, claimed to be the oldest inhabitant of the town. A native of Nevin, Anglesey, she had spent most of her life in Flint, having lived in the town for over 70 years. She was well known and highly respected in the town and district, and had been a lifelong member of the Seion Welsh Congregational Chapel, where she took an active part in the work of the cause. She retained all her faculties up to the time of her death, and she was remarkable for an extraordinary and vivid memory of events in the distant past.
Her daughter, Annie Davies, was engaged with the Friends of Armenia Society in the Syrian Mission Field during WW1 and for many years later. She died in 1958, aged 83, and was buried with her mother.
Nellie died at 11, Cilfan, Flint, in July, 1967, and was buried in the Old London Road Cemetery. She was a member of the Darby and Joan Club and the Parish Church. | English | NL | 1c1d81bf2b126deeb39ef6c43b7853137e78e0051bbed66c8eb985e1d4b7036d |
Samuel Butler Biography
Samuel Butler (1835-1902) was the second of four children in the family of Reverend and Mrs. Thomas Butler of Langar, in Nottinghamshire, England. His grandfather, for whom he was named, was for many years Bishop of Lichfield and headmaster of Shrewsbury School, which the author attended preparatory to entering St. John's College of Cambridge University. After earning an honors degree in classics and mathematics, young Butler worked briefly as a lay assistant among the poor in London and studied art. After strenuously resisting his father's wish that he enter the Anglican ministry, he sailed in 1859 to New Zealand, where he engaged in sheep farming. After doubling the capital advanced by his father, Butler returned to England in 1864 and settled into quarters at 15 Clifford's Inn, London, where he resided, alone, until his death at the age of sixty-seven.
These key biographical facts barely begin to suggest the fullness and complexity of Butler's life. The tedium and terror of his younger days, of course, are vividly presented in The Way of All Flesh. Butler's relationship with his father was always difficult and probably both better and worse than the father-son relationship treated in the novel. The immediate motivation for the writing of this work came when Butler's father accused his son of having literally killed his mother by publishing two earlier books, Erewhon (1871) and The Fair Haven (1873). It is extremely doubtful, however, that Mrs. Butler had read either one of them. Erewhon was the only book written by Butler to be widely read and to turn a profit during his lifetime. Based on his experiences in New Zealand and an intense interest in Charles Darwin's Origin of Species (1859), it describes a topsy-turvy utopia in which all machines are banned and disease is considered a crime. The Fair Haven was written ostensibly as a defense of the miraculous elements of Christianity but was, in fact, a sophisticated refutation of them. The subsequent bewilderment of readers and reviewers alike left Butler a highly controversial figure and an unlikely recipient of future commendation from an increasingly wary reading public.
Having estranged himself from the religious-minded community, Butler proceeded to vex the scientific community by relentlessly challenging Darwin's mechanistic principles of evolution in a series of books, the first and foremost of which was Life and Habit (1878). Unlike Darwin, who attributed the evolution of species to chance, Butler supported the Lamarckian concept of change: When a creature acquires necessary habits and the organs by which to perform them, these habits and organs are then passed along to their offspring by a process of unconscious memory. Butler's organic theory, however, disavowed external or divine causes in favor of internal or self-generated development.
Butler was destined to be frustrated in his attempts to gain a fair hearing for his arguments, for very few professional scientists believed that a former artist turned satirical humorist should be taken seriously. During most of the years which he spent writing The Way of All Flesh (1873 to 1885), he found himself occupying an increasingly isolated position. Unfortunately, his difficulties were further compounded by financial reverses that left him on the brink of insolvency. In spite of these distressing events, however, Butler continued to live comfortably; only once did he miss his annual vacation in Italy, a country which invariably served to lift his spirits. He also enjoyed the company of a few close friends, among whom was a former fellow art student, Eliza Savage. As an incarnate bachelor, Butler could not reciprocate Miss Savage's romantic interest, but he gratefully received her words of encouragement and judicious suggestions for the improvement of his autobiographically based novel.
Although Butler's financial troubles began to ease as early as 1881, it was not until the death of his father in 1886 that he completely felt that he was financially secure. He promptly engaged a clerk and began to indulge a variety of interests which spanned the fields of literature, art, and music. He published a two-volume biography of his illustrious grandfather, English translations of the Odyssey and Iliad, a book arguing that a woman wrote the Odyssey, an unorthodox but stimulating interpretation of Shakespeare's sonnets, a revised edition of Erewhon, and, as a fitting climax to his writing career, Erewhon Revisited — a delightful version of utopia in a state of deterioration; he also published several articles and three books on art, and was at one time seriously considered for the Slade Professorship of Art History at Cambridge; moreover, he studied musical composition and, in collaboration with a close friend, wrote two cantatas.
Butler, however, is best known today for having written Erewhon and The Way of All Flesh; yet beyond producing these two landmarks of satiric literature, he deserves recognition for being one of the last of an interesting line of amateur men of letters. Butler's life, therefore, takes on a special appeal of its own, especially since his life and works are closely interwoven. If Butler is not quite as well known as he once was, he yet remains a subject of much popular and critical attention. In a way that fits his own concept of immortality — "to live on the lips of living men" — his detractors help to keep him alive even as his admirers give abundant evidence that he has much to interest the present age. His place as one of the most remarkable satirists of the Victorian era is secure. | English | NL | de905ee182cac112d5172594daa3b52746fd76392d97adddbfc33245769d9ca1 |
There is so much that could be said about this chapter, mostly centered around the person of Melchizedek. He is a mysterious figure that is spoken of in both the Old and New Testament and deserves our attention, but let me be clear that much about him is unknown and susceptible to speculation.
The point I want to impress upon you is this, that God’s Word contains everything that God wants us to know. If some details are missing, we should assume that they are not needed to understand God’s message. Based on that theory, I want to focus in on a few details of this story, as well as Melchizedek himself.
This chapter recounts the first known war in the Bible. A confederation of 4 kings wages war on 5 kings who were a part of a rebellion. Lot was among them. The confederation won and kidnapped Lot and took all his possessions. Abram, being loyal to his nephew, then rallied his own men, all 318 of them and pushed the enemy back from their lands and reclaimed their possessions.
This is a remarkable story that certainly rivals the legendary underdog status of the Spartans. Abram, upon returning must have been tempted to revel in his own glory and leadership ability. However, his character has been tested before and here he shows an amazing display of humility and reverence before God.
He is met on the way back by the king of Sodom and the king of Melchizedek. This is an important encounter, as Melchizedek is later shown to be foreshadowing Christ himself in Hebrews 7. You really need to read that chapter to get all that God has for you on this, but allow me to highlight some of the more important points.
- There is no record of Melchizedek’s father, mother, birth or death. This makes him mythologically an eternal figure, which is an appropriate foreshadowing of Christ who is described in John as being from the beginning.
- Jewish priests are all from the tribe of Levi, however Levi was not born yet so Melchizedek predates him, making him greater. Likewise, Jesus is from the wrong tribe, the tribe of Judah. He is greater than any priest before him.
- Melchizedek’s name means King of Righteousness and he was the king of Salem which means King of Peace. Both of these descriptions are used of Jesus.
We could expound on any of these points, and talk more of priesthoods and lineages and I would encourage you to investigate further into these things as they are fascinating. However, in keeping with the theme of offering a daily thought to ponder, I would invite you to focus on the gifts that are exchanged.
And Melchizedek king of Salem brought out bread and wine. (He was priest of God Most High.) And he blessed him and said,
“Blessed be Abram by God Most High,
Possessor of heaven and earth;
and blessed be God Most High,
who has delivered your enemies into your hand!”
And Abram gave him a tenth of everything. (v.18-20)
Abram has achieved much but wants to give honor to God for it. He wants to worship and so he gives a portion of his reward to Melchizedek, who has been ordained as God’s representative in that he was a priest. That is Abram’s gift to God. What is the priest’s gift to Abram? He communes with Abram over bread and wine. This is so significant, as our high priest, Christ Jesus, on the night he was betrayed had communion with his disciples in much the same way. He spoke of the bread and wine signifying His body and His blood and that it must be broken and poured out for communion with Him to be possible. That is His gift to us.
One of the most exciting things that a believer gets to do is to honor God through giving. We can never out-give Him. No matter how much money we make, his sacrifice will always be greater than ours. However, like Abram we have the opportunity to show a gesture of our gratitude when we give to God. In this way, we honor Him and show our obedience and submission, the way Abram did before Melchizedek. Let’s be the kind of people that recognize God as the source in our greatest victories and accomplishments. It may never feel like enough, but honoring him in this way is a pleasing act of worship to Him. | English | NL | b0f56ad8ceb04043a89364d639bf05367693f72da36a0328970ecc5bf889d517 |
Remembering Stephen Hawking
I had one encounter with Stephen Hawking. He came in the summer of 1989 to the Aspen Center for Physics and had the office next to mine. He travelled with an entourage with whom he could communicate with his voice synthesiser. His hands still worked well enough. He gave a full house public lecture and afterwards Sidney Coleman presided over a question session. Hawking had to type out all his answers on his voice synthesiser which took a lot of time. At one point Sidney said: 'You can have it fast or you can have it good.' If I had asked a question, it would have been: how did he come up with the idea of Hawking radiation? I have always found his paper hard going and have always marvelled at the simple result at the end. In A Brief History of Time he gives an account which explains the phenomenon but not the result.
In the neighbourhood of the surface of the black hole there are very large fluctuations of the vacuum. These fluctuations supply the energy to create pairs of electrons and positrons. One of them is created inside the hole and the other escapes – the Hawking radiation. What this does not explain is the simple formula for the temperature, which varies inversely to the mass of the black hole. There were probably small black holes that were created at the time of the Big Bang but these, because of the high temperatures, have radiated away. The large black holes in the centre of our galaxy and elsewhere still remain because they are cooler.
It is sometimes asked why Hawking did not win a Nobel Prize. Nobel Prizes are not given for speculation; even Einstein did not win his for relativity. There is no experimental evidence for Hawking radiation but everyone who has studied the theory is sure that it is there.
Sidney Coleman told me another story about Hawking. He came to his place in Boston for dinner and since there were stairs Sidney carried Hawking up. A neighbour asked: 'Sidney, what are you carrying?' To which he replied: 'It is the Lucasian Professor of Physics from Cambridge.' | English | NL | 0f5dfaf2886a0eaa94a8dd3e2e9b749ae8aecb4ad21c86b62abbfe643584aaaa |
When the time came, Jesus and the apostles sat down together at the table. Jesus said, “I have been very eager to eat this Passover meal with you before my suffering begins. For I tell you now that I won’t eat this meal again until its meaning is fulfilled in the Kingdom of God.”
Then he took a cup of wine and gave thanks to God for it. Then he said, “Take this and share it among yourselves. For I will not drink wine again until the Kingdom of God has come.”
He took some bread and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”
After supper he took another cup of wine and said, “This cup is the new covenant between God and his people—an agreement confirmed with my blood, which is poured out as a sacrifice for you.
“But here at this table, sitting among us as a friend, is the man who will betray me. For it has been determined that the Son of Man must die. But what sorrow awaits the one who betrays him.” The disciples began to ask each other which of them would ever do such a thing. | English | NL | 8a88384b0cd6c2a7944172d1fd828e040e4a9f57624d1b54f5b58965d2f38b94 |
Born in Italy in 1870, Maria Montessori grew up to become Italy’s first woman doctor. At age 28, she accepted a position as the director of a school for "unhappy little ones” and over the course of the next two years the young doctor spent long, tireless hours observing and working with these children. She realized that children have developmental periods in which they are primed to learn different things and devised a new method of education that proclaimed her a Miracle Worker by the educational establishment.
Heartened by the results she’d achieved with the children, she returned to school to study anthropology and psychology in the hopes that she could find a way to apply the educational techniques she’d discovered to the broader educational environment. In 1907 at the age of 35, she was given a chance to try out her theories when she was invited to take over the education of 50 children from Rome. The techniques Dr. Montessori continued to refine as she studied and worked with the children were so successful that her methodology began to achieve international attention. In fact, visitors came from all over the world to see these children – and their remarkable progress.
Maria Montessori believed that character education (teaching children to take care of themselves, each other, and the world around them) was just as important as pre-academic skills such as phonetics and number recognition. In the Montessori classroom, children are busy working by themselves, with another child or with a teacher. Free choice is key here. Children can take work down from the shelves and work with it for as long as they like. They only call on a teacher if they need help. They are responsible for putting the work back exactly as it was found and in the right location. This is done in consideration for the next child who chooses the work. If a child spills something, he is also responsible for cleaning up his mess and is shown how to sweep and mop.
The independence aspect may be a bit foreign to some. We are accustomed to seeing a teacher as the star around which the children orbit; in Montessori, the children are the stars. The Montessori teacher is more of a guide, trained to respect the child and to help her or him progress on her or his own unique path. In fact, when you visit a Montessori classroom for the first time, you may be surprised that the atmosphere is so peaceful.
Dr. Montessori advocated helping children to be independent and said that children crave independence. This can be a difficult concept for some parents to grasp. As parents, we want to do everything for our children and make their lives easier, but in fact, this holds them back from attaining the independence they desire. Montessori teachers show three-year olds how to put on their own shoes and coats and insist that they do it on their own.
For some parents, it’s hard to let them try on their own! You stand there, aware of the passing time and become more and more frustrated as your child valiantly struggles with the act of dressing himself. You can’t stand it any longer and you jump in to "help” him. According to Dr. Montessori, we are hindering, not helping and taking away from their sense of success and self-esteem. When you do stand back and let your child do for himself, you are amazed to see him beaming with pride as he excitedly says "Mommy, Daddy, I did it all by myself”!
Katharine Chernyak is the Communications Coordinator and Member of the Board of Directors at Four Seasons Montessori, a progressive Montessori school offering Preschool and Elementary programs. Have questions? You can reach the school at 250-758-8979 or visit www.fourseasonsmontessori.com | English | NL | 5513266195ddaf9241bbef19499398643c132e63d44e24872c6daca7a5b02aa9 |
The Ball Clock is regarded as an icon of mid-century modern design. The idea evolved over the course of a long night during the late 1940s. The American designer George Nelson was still in the office, along with Irving Harper, when his friends Isamu Noguchi and Richard Buckminster Fuller stopped by. Bottles of wine were opened, and the next morning the host of this spontaneous gathering discovered a very special sketch. In an interview from 1953, George Nelson recalls:“And there was one night when the Ball Clock got developed, which was one of the really funny evenings. Noguchi came by, and Bucky Fuller came by. I’d been seeing a lot of Bucky those days, and here was Irving and here was I, and Noguchi, who can’t keep his hands off anything, you know – it is a marvellous, itchy thing he’s got – he saw we were working on clocks and he started making doodles. Then Bucky sort of brushed Isamu aside. He said, “This is a good way to do a clock,” and he made some utterly absurd thing. Everybody was taking a crack at this, … pushing each other aside and making scribbles.
At some point we left – we were suddenly all tired, and we’d had a little bit too much to drink – and the next morning I came back, and here was this roll (of drafting paper), and Irving and I looked at it, and somewhere in this roll there was a ball clock. I don’t know to this day who cooked it up. I know it wasn’t me. It might have been Irving, but he didn’t think so …(we) both guessed that Isamu had probably done it because (he) has a genius for doing two stupid things and making something extraordinary … out of the combination … (or) it could have been an additive thing, but, anyway, we never knew.” | English | NL | 4ec779beed717efddcbe73997211278a64cafeee9778dcc25f61e44df7082866 |
Deep dimples and a wide grin met me outside a classroom door before the first school bell rang. I looked down at the normally not-so-angelic, but rather endearing face of one of my rascally middle school boys, one of the ones who often informs me that he might be unfocused in class because he forgot to take his meds. “Really?” I think to myself sarcastically. “That would be different from normal, how?”
But this morning, his face was lit up, and I could have easily said that Heaven was reflected in his gaze.
“These are for you, Mrs. Hasz,” he said, offering up an armful of gifts.
Perusing his offerings, I was overwhelmed. Two boxes of tea, cough drops, and a very hot thermos of water was clutched in his hands.
“I didn’t know what kind of tea you like, but I got you a sampler,” he explained.
I have had a persistent cough for over two weeks now – one of those kinds that gets particularly irritated by teaching. Somehow, this student had noticed and cared. He demonstrated humbling love. I was in awe.
Filling the canteen with a “Breathe Easy” herbal blend, I sipped his gift. Amazed. Wondering. Reminded that we never know when we might be entertaining angels or when they might be entertaining us.
Psalm 23:5 “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over.”
Psalm 46:10 “Be still, and know that I am God.” | English | NL | bf078a729261769124d4ce83fed952debc18b1b8275dc33b225300328687bd0b |
In The Midnight Of His Heart
By AL BRUNO III
May 21, 1993
“Did you fall in or something?”
Eric sniffled slightly, “Very funny.”
Lying in the bed- their bed now- her red hair tousled and one of her bare legs trailing out from beneath the sheet, Angie stretched too excited to relax. Her body was still tingly in the aftermath of their lovemaking. After almost five years of lovers with styles that vacillated from tentative to selfish she had finally found a man who was both passionate and considerate. She grinned devilishly, thinking to herself that if she had known things were going to be like this she would have taken on a male roommate sooner.
“Honey...” she called.
The bathroom door was closed, she could hear the water running, “Yes?”
“I'm getting lonely here.”
“Just having a little trouble here.”
She giggled, “Condom snagged in your pubies?”
Not that this inter-roommate romance had been a planned thing, at least not on her part. She had agreed to let legal clerk Eric Bolland be her latest roommate after her previous one skipped out. She'd known Eric from their high school days and while they had never been close friends they had always seemed to run into each other at least once every few months or so. Five weeks ago was one of those times. They'd met at a Laundromat and in the course of catching up she discovered that he was looking for a new apartment. By the time their whites were dried, Angie had a new roommate.
Lucifer made his way into the room. He was a fat gray Persian cat and he very nearly waddled when he walked. Angie made kissy-noises at him and he bounded up onto the bed, meowing plaintively. She scratched under his chin, that always got a purr.
When he’d tired of her attentions and began sniffing about; he found the wet spot in the center of mattress to be of great interest. Angie tried to shoo him away from it but he just kept coming back, eventually she simply covered the area with a blanket. Lucifer shot her a wounded glance before vaulting from the bed to the dresser. She wondered if he understood what had just gone on between her and Eric. Probably not, after all she'd had him fixed years ago. Besides, the poor thing had a brain the size of a Chicklet.
The first few weeks of her new living arrangements with Eric had been platonic enough. It wasn't that she didn't find him attractive, but she was determined not to see him that way. Also she'd always had the sneaking suspicion that he was gay. But as the month rolled on she began to become aware of the desire in his gaze whenever he looked at her. It was subtle, yet affecting, like the warmth of a sunbeam. No other man had ever looked at her quite like that, they either had pure lust in their eyes or simple disinterest. Angie began to notice him as well, he was very good looking in a conservative sort of way. He exercised regularly and it showed.
Their fledgling relationship began to evolve, moving from friendship to flirtation. It was a veritable arms race of double entendres and Angie gave as good as she got. Slowly they each began to up the ante; he started walking around without a shirt on, she kept 'forgetting' to close her door when she was changing.
Three days ago it all came to a head. Eric took her out for her birthday to her favorite restaurant. It was a posh place and he’d worn his good slacks, white shirt and a tie; she’d worn something black and slinky that was somewhere between being a dress and a solicitation. Over wine they both realized how the evening was going to end. One kiss on the taxi ride home led to another. They threw money at the cabby, not bothering to wait for change and practically ran for their apartment. The door locked behind them they pulled each other's clothes out of the way and made love on the rug.
Angie shivered at the memory.
The sound of running water stopped but the bathroom door stayed closed. That man spent more time in the bathroom than she did! A mischievous thought entered in her mind. She grabbed the squirt gun from her nightstand drawer- she used it to discipline Lucifer. A few liberal sprays from it where all she needed to discourage the cat from ruining her furniture, for a while anyway.
She got out of bed and tiptoed out into the hall. Her finger tightened on the trigger and she threw the bathroom door open planning on spraying her lover down as he sat helpless on the john.
As she expected she found Eric sitting on the toilet but his boxers were up. He had his head tipped back, a bloody wad of toilet paper clamped to his nose. “Oh babe.” she said, the squirt gun slipping from her hand.
“I'm Ok.” he said, “Just go back to bed.”
“Let me see.” she insisted, pulling his hand away. She tossed the bloody clump of toilet tissue in the trash and examined his nose. Blood stained her fingers.
“It's ok, it happens all the time.”
“Why?” she pulled fresh wads of toilet paper from the roll and ran them under the faucet. She turned her attention back to him and then looked back to the sink, there was a small vial on the soap dish.
She opened the vial, there was a little spoon in the handle, and the little spoon was full of white powder. | English | NL | 9e4aa91dc79ef51c98d4a073fe0cadf0b23b5bf309e92134769f6a1e0f06c718 |
Madge Dorita Sinclair (28 April 1938 – 20 December 1995) was a Jamaican American character actress.
Sinclair was born Madge Dorita Walters in Kingston, Jamaica, to Herbert and Jemima Walters. She was a teacher in Jamaica until 1968 when she left for New York to pursue her career in acting.
In 1978, she starred in the film Convoy as the Widow Maker. She played Leona Hamiltons in Cornbread, Earl and Me. She would later receive an Emmy Award nomination for her role as Belle in the miniseries Roots. She went on to a long-running stint in the 1980s as nurse Ernestine Shoop on the series Trapper John, M.D. opposite Pernell Roberts. She received three Emmy nominations for her work on the show, and critic Donald Bogle praised her for "maintaining her composure and assurance no matter what the script imposed on her." | English | NL | 06cf5fb1a759176846569027d85356adca6dcbc6960a44f33a3414b1d11f55d7 |
Love and Loss
Joshua had promised his father that he would keep his younger brother Jason busy while he worked on fixing the tractor. He would always take Joshua out to the cornfield where they would play catch after everything was harvested for that year. Jason led Joshua over to the farthest edge of the property away from the farm and it's equipment. In this area they could throw the ball as hard and far as they wanted without hitting anything. Joshua had the ball and right before he threw it yelled, “This one is gonna go far, you ready?” Jason nodded and Joshua threw it.
Jason went far back but the ball still went over his head. He found where it had landed and threw it back over to his brother. That was when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. There in the field was a woman, she was all in black. She was just standing there, watching them. Jason looked to his brother who was playing catch by himself while waiting for his brother to get back over to him. ‘Guess he doesn’t see her’ Jason thought to himself as had started to walk closer to his brother, just to be safe. When he turned back to see where the woman was or if she was even still there, she had gotten even closer. He had only looked away for a few seconds, ‘how could she have gotten there so quickly?’ Jason asked himself as he had stopped walking to keep his eye on her for a moment. She seemed to flicker in and out of existence for a moment and then flicker back solid only a few feet from him. He took several steps back from her “Ma’am, can I help you?” Jason asked as he tried to hide his fear. Joshua heard his brothers voice and turned to him. He saw him standing there looking off into the field. He followed his line of sight and saw a woman standing out in the field. She was dressed entirely in black, she even had a veil over her face. Jason was staring at her as she silently stared back at him. Jason could feel himself being drawn in by her stare, he wanted to look away he even tried to look away but, he couldn’t. He wanted to tell his brother to run and get dad, maybe even to run to the house and hide away. She had come even closer to him now.
To him it seemed as if she had floated above the ground this time. He didn’t even flinch at this and just continued to stare into her eyes. She slowly began to rise her hand to his chest, to the area around his heart. He began to feel a slight burning sensation there. He flinched slightly at the pain but never looked away from her eyes. “My Jason” she began to say over and over again. It was all he could hear. Her other hand began to reach towards her face, towards the veil covering her face. As she began to lift it he caught a glimpse of a decaying face. As soon as the veil was completely lifted though, her face changed. She appeared to be a young woman, a young woman he knew at one point. As he continued to stare at her he realized who she was. It was his grandmother, when she was much younger. “My Jason” She said again. Joshua had been yelling for his brother trying to get him away from this woman. Jason was acting weird and ignoring him. “Jason” Joshua tried again. When he got no response he yelled for their father. “Dad, Dad”. They were to far out in the field for his dad to come. He didn’t want to leave Jason, he didn’t want to leave him with this woman.
Jason could feel himself getting weaker and weaker the longer he stared at her. He just couldn’t look away, couldn’t hear anything else around him. All he could see and hear was her, his grandmother. She was so young and beautiful. Jason felt his knees begin to buckle and he began to fall to the ground. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t look away. All he could feel was safety, warmth and an overwhelming need to sleep. He laid down on the ground. She stood over him, hand over his chest and repeated “My Jason”. The feeling of exhaustion overwhelmed him but, he couldn’t close his eyes. The last thing he saw was his grandmother and her saying “My Jason”. After that he knew no more. Joshua was running over to his brother. He was scared when he saw this woman stretch out her hand towards Jason. He became terrified when he saw him falling to the ground. ‘Why wouldn’t Jason fight back, why would he just stand there?’. All these questions ran through his head as he made his way over to him.
Once he was close enough to them he could see the veil had been removed from her face. She turned to him and smiled. Her face was one of a decomposing woman. There was skin hanging off of her face, her eyes had a foggy appearance to them and her teeth were rotted and discolored. She was still smiling when she flickered and then vanished. Joshua ran through the area she had been standing in and was met with a strong cold feeling. This was the middle of the summer in South Dakota, there was no way it could be cold outside. He finally reached his brother and kneeled next to him. He was cold, his lips were blue and his eyes had the same appearance as hers had. He felt his brothers neck looking for a pulse, tears were clouding his vision. He found the area where his pulse should be at but, he couldn’t find it. He was dead, his brother was gone. Jason was gone. He laid his head on his brothers chest and didn’t hold back the tears as he cried for the loss of his brother. | English | NL | 57bc3c2029a1a3f3d7a99c76586a3f199ae80dda7c4d9c412fb66ba0f10a9281 |
Spencer joined RVK in 2008 and is located in our Portland office. In 2014, he was promoted to Consultant, in 2017, he was named Department Manager of our Associate Consultant/Investment Associate group, and in 2019, he was promoted to Senior Consultant.
Spencer’s career at RVK has been focused on providing investment consulting advice to many of the firm’s endowment and foundation, public fund, Taft Hartley, high-net-worth families, and corporate clients. His responsibilities include asset allocation and policy setting, investment manager research and due diligence, forward-looking capital market assumptions, asset class portfolio structuring, and many of the firm’s internal research projects.
Spencer graduated cum laude from Linfield College with a degree in Finance. He is a shareholder and serves on the firm's Board of Directors. | English | NL | 36f5c6ce7cac6ab77bf039e595e4899a5800136906291cc61652a6c453261968 |
In the tradition of absurdist black comedies like the classic Harold and Maude, Invitation to a Suicide is about a man selling tickets to his own suicide to save his father's life.
Raised in an insular Polish immigrant neighborhood in Brooklyn where his only future would be as a poor baker like his father, Kaz Malek attempts to steal from a Russian mobster and run away. Not cut out for a life of crime, he ends up owing $10,000 to the mobster instead, who threatens to kill his father if he doesn't pay.
Unable to pay or face his father's death, Kaz comes up with a novel plan: he'll hang himself and sell tickets to the show. He'd rather be a dead hero than a living loser with the guilt of his father's death hanging over his head. Kaz is surprised to find both the mobster and the neighborhood extremely supportive of this idea, not to mention his father.
But even if he can sell the tickets will he really go through with it? By the time this dark comedy reaches its surprising conclusion, Kaz learns that sometimes embracing death is the only way to a better life. | English | NL | fbe64f231f2e6b4d261064dd0cd10feed9cf5787b1055d7269ba2cb837627457 |
Bruce Wayne's transfer orders to 70 RFC have finally come through. He celebrated by downing an Aviatik. He was unsure how he would measure up after an extended period in the Fee, where all he could do was chauffeur the observer/gunner and he would do all the work. Now he has a gun all to himself and is making good use of it.
"Take the cylinder out of my kidneys, The connecting rod out of my brain, my brain, From out of my arse take the camshaft, And assemble the engine again." | English | NL | df3d1b15c70e24426f30c96bf8fca83fa3f995c52a16fc6ee9f11a3be7e9a73b |
It was almost eleven years ago, while reading daily from the devotional work, One Year with Jesus, that I wrote in my journal: "One of the most profound questions Jesus ever asked."
The event is recorded in John 5:1-9. A bunch of people are gathered around a particular pool in Jerusalem because a legend stated that, from time to time, an angel would stir the water in the pool and whoever got in first when that happened would be healed of whatever sickness or infirmity they suffered from.
One particular invalid had been unable to walk for 38 years. The inference is that he had been laying there by the pool, trying to be the first one in whenever the waters moved, for most of that time.
No wonder Jesus went up to the man and asked, "Do you want to get well?"
Now, the story has a happy ending, but it's this question in the middle of the tale that caused me to stop dead in my tracks.
DO you want to get well?
Do YOU want to get well?
Do you WANT to get well?
Do you want to get WELL?
* * * * * * *
Truth is...there are some things about me that I SAY I wish were different, but I wonder if Jesus looks at me, grins to himself, and asks the very same question. | English | NL | feda1e9429779d5d457d1e6de0d5d879a94b40dba6896a34245110e9eee36f19 |
Writing about real diamonds in historical fiction
Once upon a time, I had gap year job in a jewellery and antique shop. I was taken to their workshop to see how jewels were cut and set, and gradually learned what sort of antiques sold to what sort of customer. It was a pleasant job, but not what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Looking back, however, much of what I learned then has come in very handy for my historical fiction.
Budding authors are advised to write what they know: my first novel, The Magpie, subsequently re-written as The Empress Emerald, is about Leo Kazan, a young man in colonial Bombay who has a fascination for all things shiny. I had a basic knowledge of the gems, and what I knew about India during the Raj came from tales of a great uncle who loved his time in India. In writing this novel – and without giving it any thought – I was combining the far away and long ago with personal experience. A technique I extended for The Chosen Man trilogy, drawing on my time living in Italy, the Netherlands and Spain with events that happened centuries ago.
While preparing for my new release, A Turning Wind, (Book 2 in The Chosen Man trilogy), I came across the writing of the French merchant-explorer Jean-Baptiste Tavernier (1605-1689). In a spell-binding account of how diamonds were mined in the Golconda region of India he quotes an account supposedly written by Marco Polo of how diamonds were found and traded in the area centuries before. It was too good not to use so I wove it into the opening scene of A Turning Wind, it also sets the scene for what is to come later perfectly.
Goa, India, September 1639
It was a ramshackle affair for such valuable goods. A makeshift marketplace created out of crimson and brightly striped awnings. Lengths of scarlet, orange, turquoise, purple and blue formed curtains between trees; sheltering the splendid commodities from the late summer sun. Vendors were still laying out their wares when Ludo arrived: gems and trinkets in copper and gold, ivory combs and bangles, shimmering sari silk and embroidered fringed shawls, all transported from one coast of India to the other on heads and shoulders. The costly cargo had passed through the famous alluvial diamond valleys of Golconda, the human caravan collecting ever more precious gems along the way – a cargo now watched over by guards with arm muscles that rippled ‘beware’ and vicious knives tucked in wide belts.
Curious, colourful, magnificent . . . everything Ludo had hoped for. He was delighted. Yet, wandering among the displays, he began to wonder why he had come – what, apart from uncut diamonds, he was actually seeking.
As he finished his first circuit, a white bullock ambled in pulling a cart laden with clay flagons. Happily over-paying an urchin for a drink of water then returning the cup, Ludo strolled back among the folding tables, trestles and floor mats, this time stopping to examine a miniature chest of drawers decorated with inlaid mother-of-pearl for women’s trinkets. It was pretty, but no, not special enough to add to his ship’s cargo. Moving on, he encountered an awkward Englishman dabbing at his forehead with a sodden handkerchief. The pink-faced sahib was struggling to keep up with an Indian agent’s heavily accented sales patter without losing his cherished dignity.
“Let me tell you how they are found,” the Goan agent was saying as he ran a hand seductively through a wide lacquered bowl of uncut diamonds. “When it rains, water rushes down the mountains, taking these precious stones with it and leaving them trapped at the bottom of gorges and in caverns. When the dry season comes and there is not one drop of water to be had, when the heat is enough to kill an Englishman as he walks from his door, brave men risk their lives to collect the stones. But they must go where wild serpents thrive. Venomous serpents and vast – serpents that crush and swallow men whole . . .”
Ludo shuddered along with the Englishman: snakes were another of the reasons he had made no attempt to travel inland during his stay in Goa.
“. . . but these diamonds are precious not only for the means by which they are obtained, not only for their special rarity, but for their quality. Look, sahib, see how fine they are, how they bring light into our lives. Each one is perfect, flawless . . .”
The Englishman put a forefinger in the bowl and peered at a stone the size of a sparrow’s egg, then at another the shape and form of a woman’s fingernail. The Goan agent took his hand and placed an uncut stone in the sweating palm then exchanged it for a cushion-cut diamond ring magicked from among his robes saying quietly, “This is not for everyone to know, sahib, but I should tell you, there may not be many more of these diamonds. Each year there are fewer. It is said the serpents now eat them to preserve their heritage.”
Ludo swallowed a grin and gestured with a hand to attract the agent’s attention. Half-convinced, half-enthralled, and knowingly walking into an enticement worthy of his own invention, Ludo stepped forward and cocked his head to one side enquiringly. The agent retrieved the ring from the Englishman and put it in Ludo’s open palm then whisked a heart-shaped ruby from thin air and put it next to the ring.
Ludo’s hand was broad but there was barely room for the two wonderful gemstones. The agent picked the ring from Ludo’s hand, leaving only the ruby to burn through his palm in the warm light of the coloured awnings.
“A gem worthy of a queen, sahib,” the agent murmured.
“Worthy of a queen . . . it is indeed,” Ludo murmured. This was what he wanted: this ruby. “But it is too much for a humble merchant such as me.”
“No, sahib, this ruby is for you. This is what you seek.”
Ludo shot him a surprised glance. The agent’s expression was open, generous, but two black-bead eyes under a startlingly white turban bore into him, hypnotising him, holding his gaze.
“You must know, sahib, a ruby of this quality has such virtues from the Sun that a man living in ignorance or consumed by sin, or pursued by mortal enemies, is saved by its wearing. When stones such as this are found they are named: this is ‘Rani Saahasi’. There is no perfect translation that I know in Portuguese: in English you could call it ‘Queen of Courage’.
Ludo forced himself to look away, shook his head to clear his vision and pulled himself back to the multi-coloured market place. But his fingers clenched the ruby of their own accord: the stone, as red as pomegranate seeds, as cool as the waters of Kashmir, sang in his palm. He had to have it.
“No,” he said. “No, I cannot risk my small income on a bauble such as this.”
The Englishman’s jaw dropped. Ludo willed him to move away, not wanting to risk haggling against the flushed-faced mister as well. The Englishman stayed exactly where he was.
Reluctantly, Ludo held out the ruby saying, “I seek smaller, uncut gems . . .” As he spoke a set of long-nailed, hairy fingers plucked the stone from his palm and the thief escaped round the trunk of the nearest tree.
A troop of other practised thieves appeared above, peering with the faces of buffoons between the different coloured awnings then scrambling helter-skelter from branches or shimmying like circus performers down supporting wooden props. The Goan agent screeched not unlike the unwanted visitors and grabbed the corners of his open cloth on the low table behind him, hugging the rapid sack to his bony chest so no more of his valuable goods could be taken. Suddenly there was a commotion around the bullock cart carrying water; a thief had upturned the clay cups and made off with a jug, carrying it awkwardly on three legs for she had a baby on her back. Her sister, meanwhile, discovered a display of brass incense holders and bells. Seizing as many as she could, she began to juggle; the bells ringing into the air then clanging to the soft mud beneath her feet. Then up went a candlestick, and then another and another, caught by one cousin and tossed to an uncle who, brandishing it as trophy, bared his teeth at the buyers and headed for home.
But as he went, more of his clan arrived, targeting push-carts, floor mats and head-rolls; some stealing arm bangles and pushing them up their thin, hairy arms before running back up the tree trunks into the branches and awnings, or jumping on tables, scattering wares that had crossed perilous oceans and scorching plains to be brought undamaged, intact across mountains and marshes down to Goa.
Ludo started to laugh at the shock and surprise of the invasion, then stopped as if the scene were frozen in time when the ruby he so coveted dropped to his feet from above.
“Choke on it, choke on it!” the monkey cursed, for it was inedible and he did not want it.
Slowly, slowly, hardly believing his luck, Ludo bent to pick up the gem. His right hand closed over it and it was his.
But it was not.
He started to walk out of the covered square, but his legs would not move. The ruby held him to the spot, telling him perhaps that a man living in ignorance or consumed by sin, or worse – pursued by a mortal enemy – is saved by its wearing. Ludo did not believe he was consumed by sin or that he lived in a state of ignorance, but he was pursued by enemies, one, possibly two, or even three if you counted the ridiculous Count Hawk – but he was no thief. No common thief, anyway.
‘Write about what you know’ and what you pick up along the way . . . My research has taken me down all manner of exotic rabbit holes, and (reported) truth can be much stranger than fiction. Quoting Marco Polo again, Tavernier explains how diamond gatherers supposedly avoided serpents to harvest precious stones:
“Now it is so happens that these mountains are inhabited by a great many white eagles, which prey on the serpents. When these eagles spy the flesh (raw meat men have flung into the valley) lying at the bottom of the valley, down they swoop and seize the lumps and carry them off. The men observe attentively where the eagles go, and as soon as they see that a bird has alighted and has swallowed the flesh, they rush to the spot as fast as they can. (…) When eagles eat the flesh, they also eat − that is, they swallow − the diamonds. Then at night, when the eagle comes back, it deposits the diamonds it has swallowed with its droppings. So men come and collect these droppings, and there they find diamonds in plenty.”
‘Diamonds in plenty’ – at seventeen I couldn’t see a future in them; now I cannot imagine how at least two of my novels could have been written without them.
This post was written for Helen Hollick’s Discovering Diamonds blog. You can read a review of ‘A Turning Wind’ on: https://discoveringdiamonds.blogspot.com/search?q=A+Turning+Wind | English | NL | ecf01bf55d4e62144787cd2348f39f644569f321757f111aa95fd427ce237260 |
One after the other they filed up the gangplank and were led down some narrow steps that took them to the bottom of the ship. They stopped in a musty, dark, damp room, and the door closed loudly behind them. Anna did not like the situation one bit, and felt a shiver run down her spine. With her hands now freed from the rope, Anna began making her way around the cramped room, in hopes of finding Philip. She had to know how he was doing and what he thought of this dreadful place!
She finally located him in a corner and sat down beside him. "Philip, what are we going to do now? Where do you think we are headed?"
"I don't know any more than you do, Anna. All we can do is pray. We are at the mercy of these men and have no choice but to go along with them. Remember what Paul had to go through. He was often in worse places than this. And Jesus, He had to endure extreme pain and suffering. Do we think we should go through any less than they did?"
"I know. I'm sorry for complaining. It's just hard to keep my chin up in a place like this."
"Nothing is impossible with Christ. Keep up the faith! Perfect love casteth out fear!"
For days they remained cooped up in the dark room, not knowing where they were headed. Twice a day a sailor came down with a skimpy meal for them to share, and they all drank out of the barrel of water by the door. Most of the time they felt seasick anyway, so the food was especially unappealing to the captives. The Lord was their strength through it all and they sang and quoted Scriptures to help pass the dark hours.
As if things were not bad enough, a storm decided to blow in and began violently rocking the ship. The teens were thrown around the room, and Anna felt someone crash into her.
"Is that you, Anna?" A weak voice asked.
Anna recognized May's voice. "Yes, May, it is me. Hold on as best you can!"
"I can't take much more of this! I have never been very strong and this is taking a lot out of me." She rolled away as another large wave rocked the ship.
"Dear God, save us all!" Anna desperately prayed.
When the storm finally settled down, the room was a mess. The water barrel had cracked and the fresh water was now mixed in with the salt water on the floor. Andy, one of the other teens, was lying on the floor near the door when the it suddenly opened and Greenhart entered the room. The door clunked Any in the head and he groaned as he scooted away from the door.
Greenhart looked at them in disgust. "I see you had quite the party in here! And your water barrel is empty. No more for you unless you repair it. Are any of you hungry?"
He smiled as he heard the groans. Sea sickness had hit strong during the storm and nobody felt like eating. He turned to go, but Anna stopped him by calling his name.
"Captain, may I ask a question?"
He turned around sharply. "What is it?"
"Sir, would allow us to go up to the deck, maybe a few at a time, so we could get some fresh air? We would be willing to work for you, like scrub the deck or something if that would help you out."
"You don't like your quarters?" he asked. "Are you trying to get me to be nice?"
"I am not thinking about myself, sir. I am mainly thinking about May here. She is not doing very well and could use a breath of fresh air."
"I will think on it." Captain Greenhart said and shut the door behind him.
It was not much later when a sailor came down and ordered May and Andy outside. They came back a few hours later and two more were allowed to go up to the deck. From then on, the trip was not so dreary and boring because they had something to look forward to, even if meant having to do some work. Color returned to May's face and after a few days of this, she softened to the truth of the Gospel and even asked the Lord to come live in her heart. It was a happy moment for everyone.
Anna was mopping the deck when she heard the cry, "Land Ho!" Andy, who was bringing over a fresh bucket of water paused when he heard the sailor's cry. "Do you think this terrible nightmare will end now?" he asked Anna as he set the bucket down.
"Lord willing," she answered. "It seems like we have been on this ship forever!"
"This prison, you mean? I have been keeping track of the days and I figure we have been on here for over thirty days."
"It should be April 30th - my mom's birthday than," Anna gazed out at the sea, and saw a little tiny speck on the horizon that must have been the land. "I sure do miss my parents."
"I know, we all miss our families. But there is nothing we can do. I just wish there was some way to tell them that we are okay. I pray every day that God will give them the peace they need while we are gone."
They continued to work in silence. Anna knew it would not be long before they were sent below again and she wanted to take in every moment in the fresh air that she could. When they were finished, Greenhart came over to examine their work.
"I must admit that you Christians sure do a good job. Don't take that as a compliment though and think you are going to get out of your punishment!"
Anna frowned. "You mean there is more to come?"
"Well, of course! You didn't think this "fun" boat ride was your punishment, did you? This was just the beginning!" He turned to a sailor awaiting his orders. "Anchor the ship when we are 1/2 mile from the island, and then bring the prisoners up to me. "
"Aye, aye, sir!" he saluted and went his way.
Anna and Andy waited by the railing of the ship until it was anchored and all the other teens were brought up to the deck. Anna had not realized how filthy and ratty they had all become until she saw her friends standing in a row. She put her grubby hand to her hair and grimaced. She must look a fright too!
"Well, now, are you stinking Christians ready to get cleaned up? Sailors, help me with these kids!"
Anna watched, puzzled about what was going to happen next. A sinking feeling started in the pit of her stomach...they weren't going to throw them in, were they? Her fears came true as she watched Greenhart lift May over the side and she disappeared with a shriek over the railing. Unable to make her feet move, Anna stared in horror as one after the other was thrown into the water below. Rough arms grabbed her shoulders and she struggled weakly to get away, but was soon under the cold water, fighting her way to the surface so she could breath again. When she finally came up, she heard Greenhart's evil laugh as fourteen people splashed around in the water, desperate to stay afloat. With the stronger ones helping the weaker ones, they all began making their way to the land that still looked so far away.
"Happy swimming!" Greenhart called back at them as the ship turned around and began making its journey back the way it had come. "Don't let the sharks bite!"
Anna was tiring quickly, trying to help keep May's head above the water. "Keep going, May, together we can do this!"
"No, Anna, let me go. I don't want to fight anymore. I am so tired."
"Oh, no, May. I will not let you go. God will give us both the strength to get to the island."
The sun had just set when the weary group stumbled upon dry ground. Cold and hungry, Anna lay in a heap and watched the sky change from blue, to orange, and pink. If she had been at home lying on the lawn with her mom and dad, her thoughts would have been different. For now, she just thanked the Lord for getting them to land safe and sound. | English | NL | cb2b0ef3fc07d679f1f208fc2492f07ba1ec0ca8b03bbdcc917573025c999c0c |
Jake was born 6 weeks premature, which surprised everyone--I'd had an obscenely easy pregnancy with no problems at all, not even any nausea or mood swings. (Well, no problems unless you consider it a problem to morph into something the size of a cruise ship.)
Things were going so well that when I started feeling some pains in the depths of my colossal belly, I assumed they were just Braxton-Hicks contractions, the "false" ones you're supposed to get well before the actual labor contractions. I started getting them around noon at work, and although they were uncomfortable/painful, I figured there was no point in going home, where I'd presumably feel equally crappy but have nothing to take my mind off of it. So I worked til 6, as the contractions went from being kind of random to coming pretty steadily, about 30 minutes apart. When I got home I made pork chops and cleaned the house as they got closer together, and then I went to bed, where they got worse and closer together, keeping me from sleeping. (Actually it was probably the sound of my own voice moaning in pain that kept me from sleeping.) At 3 Am they were about five minutes apart, and here's where I finally had my genius revelation: I'm in labor. (I know, all you ladies who've been through this before are thinking I should have realized this about 200 contractions ago, but hey, I'm a first-timer, and maybe not too bright. Plus I have a fairly high tolerance for pain, added to the fact that my water didn't break like I was expecting it to.) I woke Brian up (no easy feat, let me tell you), and we went to the hospital, where incredulous delivery nurses mocked me for not realizing I had been in labor for hours. Jake was born about 4 hours later, and because he was premature, they whisked him immediately to the NICU, letting me take a one-second peek at him rather than hold him. Which, really, was fine with me; I felt like I'd been beaten with a meat tenderizing mallet, and was in no shape to cuddle, especially with Mr. Slimy Purple Yelling Thing.
Jake stayed in the NICU for two weeks, although it didn't appear there was much wrong with him. He weighed 5 lbs. 7 oz., a good size for being so early. (I shudder to think how big he'd have been if I had carried him to term. As it was, it felt like I had pushed a Volkswagen out my hoo-ha.) They put him on oxygen for one day, and after that he had to lay under a bright light for several days to get rid of the jaundice that, if unchecked, might have made it look like he had a Muppet for a father. But otherwise, they mostly kept him there because he was a lazy eater. He would nod off in the middle of a meal like a heroin junkie, stubbornly ignoring their requirement that he consistently eat x amount of food in x amount of time before they'd release him. After a very frustrating two weeks of us begging him to just eat, for crying out loud, so we could take him home, the NICU doctors finally just gave up and released him to us in spite of his spotty performance. Because he was already on his way to becoming a smartass, he decided to start eating pefectly immediately after he was released--that very day, in fact--consuming the amount of food in the amount of time allotted. Little prankster.
He had, of course, been on a monitor while he was there, like all the babies, which kept track of his heart rate and breathing. When a baby's heart rate drops below a certain number, the monitor beeps and the nurse swoops in to pick the baby up or move him around to stimulate him and get his heart rate back up. Jake had a few instances in which his heart rate dropped, so they put him on elixophyllin, a central nervous system stimulant similar to caffeine. (Already taking after me; soon he'll be spending half his income at Starbucks, just like mommy.) They also put him on Zantac and Reglan for acid reflux. As a precaution, they sent him home on a monitor, a less complex and more portable version of the monitor they had him on in the NICU. It was about the size of a cereal box, and came with a purse-like bag you could sling over your shoulder while toting the baby around. A chord ran from the monitor to electrodes on Jake's chest, snaking out of the bottom of his onesie and looking a lot like a leash.
He had to stay on the monitor for 3 months, during which time there were several madcap incidents in which one of us would pick up the baby and start to walk off, only to be yanked back by the leash. Anyone wanting to hold Jake was basically tethered to his basinette. It felt a lot like when you ask to use the bathroom at a gas station, and they hand you a key attached to a wire with a wooden block anchoring it on the other end.
So now the leash is off, and we have what passes for a normal baby. Although when he starts crawling I may wish I had the leash back. | English | NL | f5b703d336a929dfe911baa91104b3c8b5d1e3249b437a4e49a563f6c7f52dcd |
At the Foot of the Rainbow by Gene Stratton-Porter
Chapter XI. The Pot of Gold
Mary had not been in the Dolan home an hour until Katy knew all she could tell of her trouble. Mrs. Dolan was practical. "Go to see Father Michael," she said. "What's he for but to hilp us. Go ask him what Jimmy told him. Till him how you feel and what you know. He can till you what Dannie knows and thin you will understand where you are at."
Mary was on the way before Mrs. Dolan fully finished. She went to the priest's residence and asked his housekeeper to inquire if he would see her. He would, and Mary entered his presence strangely calm and self-possessed. This was the last fight she knew of that she could make for happiness, and if she lost, happiness was over for her. She had need of all her wit and she knew it. Father Michael began laughing as he shook hands.
"Now look here, Mary," he said, "I've been expecting you. I warn you before you begin that I cannot sanction your marriage to a Protestant."
"Oh, but I'm going to convart him!" cried Mary so quickly that the priest laughed harder than ever.
"So that's the lay of the land!" he chuckled. "Well, if you'll guarantee that, I'll give in. When shall I read the banns?"
"Not until we get Dannie's consint," answered Mary, and for the first her voice wavered.
Father Michael looked his surprise. "Tut! Tut!" he said. "And is Dannie dilatory?"
"Dannie is the finest man that will ever live in this world," said Mary, "but he don't want to marry me."
"To my certain knowledge Dannie has loved you all your life," said Father Michael. "He wants nothing here or hereafter as he wants to marry you."
"Thin why don't he till me so?" sobbed Mary, burying her burning face in her hands.
"Has he said nothing to you?" gravely inquired the priest.
"No, he hasn't and I don't belave he intinds to," answered Mary, wiping her eyes and trying to be composed. "There is something about Jimmy that is holding him back. Mrs. Dolan thought you'd help me."
"What do you want me to do, Mary?" asked Father Michael.
"Two things," answered Mary promptly. "I want you to tell me what Jimmy confissed to you before he died, and then I want you to talk to Dannie and show him that he is free from any promise that Jimmy might have got out of him. Will you?"
"A dying confession--" began the priest.
"Yes, but I know--" broke in Mary. "I saw them fight, and I heard Jimmy till Dannie that he'd lied to him to separate us, but he turned right around and took it back and I knew Dannie belaved him thin; but he can't after Jimmy confissed it again to both of you."
"What do you mean by `saw them fight?'" Father Michael was leaning toward Mary anxiously.
Mary told him.
"Then that is the explanation to the whole thing," said the priest. "Dannie did believe Jimmy when he took it back, and he died before he could repeat to Dannie what he had told me. And I have had the feeling that Dannie thought himself in a way to blame for Jimmy's death."
"He was not! Oh, he was not!" cried Mary Malone. "Didn't I live there with them all those years? Dannie always was good as gold to Jimmy. It was shameful the way Jimmy imposed on him, and spint his money, and took me from him. It was shameful! Shameful!"
"Be calm! Be calm!" cautioned Father Michael. "I agree with you. I am only trying to arrive at Dannie's point of view. He well might feel that he was responsible, if after humoring Jimmy like a child all his life, he at last lost his temper and dealt with him as if he were a man. If that is the case, he is of honor so fine, that he would hesitate to speak to you, no matter what he suffered. And then it is clear to me that he does not understand how Jimmy separated you in the first place."
"And lied me into marrying him, whin I told him over and over how I loved Dannie. Jimmy Malone took iverything I had to give, and he left me alone for fiftane years, with my three little dead babies, that died because I'd no heart to desire life for thim, and he took my youth, and he took my womanhood, and he took my man--" Mary arose in primitive rage. "You naden't bother!" she said. "I'm going straight to Dannie meself."
"Don't!" said Father Michael softly. "Don't do that, Mary! It isn't the accepted way. There is a better! Let him come to you."
"But he won't come! He don't know! He's in Jimmy's grip tighter in death than he was in life." Mary began to sob again.
"He will come," said Father Michael. "Be calm! Wait a little, my child. After all these years, don't spoil a love that has been almost unequaled in holiness and beauty, by anger at the dead. Let me go to Dannie. We are good friends. I can tell him Jimmy made a confession to me, that he was trying to repeat to him, when punishment, far more awful than anything you have suffered, overtook him. Always remember, Mary, he died unshriven!" Mary began to shiver. "Your suffering is over," continued the priest. "You have many good years yet that you may spend with Dannie; God will give you living children, I am sure. Think of the years Jimmy's secret has hounded and driven him! Think of the penalty he must pay before he gets a glimpse of paradise, if he be not eternally lost!"
"I have!" exclaimed Mary. "And it is nothing to the fact that he took Dannie from me, and yet kept him in my home while he possessed me himsilf for years. May he burn----"
"Mary! Let that suffice!" cried the priest. "He will! The question now is, shall I go to Dannie?"
"Will you till him just what Jimmy told you? Will you till him that I have loved him always?"
"Yes," said Father Michael.
"Will you go now?"
"I cannot! I have work. I will come early in the morning."
"You will till him ivirything?" she repeated.
"I will," promised Father Michael.
Mary went back to Mrs. Dolan's comforted. She was anxious to return home at once, but at last consented to spend the day. Now that she was sure Dannie did not know the truth, her heart warmed toward him. She was anxious to comfort and help him in the long struggle which she saw that he must have endured. By late afternoon she could bear it no longer and started back to Rainbow Bottom in time to prepare supper.
For the first hour after Mary had gone Dannie whistled to keep up his courage. By the second he had no courage to keep. By the third he was indulging in the worst fit of despondency he ever had known. He had told her to stay a week. A week! It would be an eternity! There alone again! Could he bear it? He got through to mid- afternoon some way, and then in jealous fear and foreboding he became almost frantic. One way or the other, this thing must be settled. Fiercer raged the storm within him and at last toward evening it became unendurable.
At its height the curling smoke from the chimney told him that Mary had come home. An unreasoning joy seized him. He went to the barn and listened. He could hear her moving about preparing supper. As he watched she came to the well for water and before she returned to the cabin she stood looking over the fields as if trying to locate him. Dannie's blood ran hotly and his pulses were leaping. "Go to her! Go to her now!" demanded passion, struggling to break leash. "You killed Jimmy! You murdered your friend!" cried conscience, with unyielding insistence. Poor Dannie gave one last glance at Mary, and then turned, and for the second time he ran from her as if pursued by demons. But this time he went straight to Five Mile Hill, and the grave of Jimmy Malone.
He sat down on it, and within a few feet of Jimmy's bones, Dannie took his tired head in his hands, and tried to think, and for the life of him, he could think but two things. That he had killed Jimmy, and that to live longer without Mary would kill him. Hour after hour he fought with his lifelong love for Jimmy and his lifelong love for Mary. Night came on, the frost bit, the wind chilled, and the little brown owls screeched among the gravestones, and Dannie battled on. Morning came, the sun arose, and shone on Dannie, sitting numb with drawn face and bleeding heart.
Mary prepared a fine supper the night before, and patiently waited, and when Dannie did not come, she concluded that he had gone to town, without knowing that she had returned. Tilly grew sleepy, so she put the child to bed, and presently she went herself. Father Michael would make everything right in the morning. But in the morning Dannie was not there, and had not been. Mary became alarmed. She was very nervous by the time Father Michael arrived. He decided to go to the nearest neighbor, and ask when Dannie had been seen last. As he turned from the lane into the road a man of that neighborhood was passing on his wagon, and the priest hailed him, and asked if he knew where Dannie Macnoun was.
"Back in Five Mile Hill, a man with his head on his knees, is a- settin' on the grave of Jimmy Malone, and I allow that would be Dannie Macnoun, the damn fool!" he said.
Father Michael went back to the cabin, and told Mary he had learned where Dannie was, and to have no uneasiness, and he would go to see him immediately.
"And first of all you'll tell him how Jimmy lied to him?"
"I will!" said the priest.
He entered the cemetery, and walked slowly to the grave of Jimmy Malone. Dannie lifted his head, and stared at him.
"I saw you," said Father Michael, "and I came in to speak with you." He took Dannie's hand. "You are here at this hour to my surprise."
"I dinna know that ye should be surprised at my comin' to sit by Jimmy at ony time," coldly replied Dannie. "He was my only friend in life, and another mon so fine I'll never know. I often come here."
The priest shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then he sat down on a grave near Dannie. "For a year I have been waiting to talk with you," he said.
Dannie wiped his face, and lifting his hat, ran his fingers through his hair, as if to arouse himself. His eyes were dull and listless. "I am afraid I am no fit to talk sensibly," he said. "I am much troubled. Some other time----"
"Could you tell me your trouble?" asked Father Michael.
Dannie shook his head.
"I have known Mary Malone all her life," said the priest softly, "and been her confessor. I have known Jimmy Malone all his life, and heard his dying confession. I know what it was he was trying to tell you when he died. Think again!"
Dannie Macnoun stood up. He looked at the priest intently. "Did ye come here purposely to find me?"
"What do ye want?"
"To clear your mind of all trouble, and fill your heart with love, and great peace, and rest. Our Heavenly Father knows that you need peace of heart, and rest, Dannie."
"To fill my heart wi' peace, ye will have to prove to me that I'm no responsible fra the death of Jimmy Malone; and to give it rest, ye will have to prove to me that I'm free to marry his wife. Ye can do neither of those things."
"I can do both," said the priest calmly. "My son, that is what I came to do."
Dannie's face grew whiter and whiter, as the blood receded, and his big hands gripped at his sides.
"Aye, but ye canna!" he cried desperately. "Ye canna!"
"I can," said the priest. "Listen to me! Did Jimmy get anything at all said to you?"
"He said, `Mary,' then he choked on the next word, then he gasped out `yours,' and it was over."
"Have you any idea what he was trying to tell you?"
"Na!" answered Dannie. "He was mortal sick, and half delirious, and I paid little heed. If he lived, he would tell me when he was better. If he died, nothing mattered, fra I was responsible, and better friend mon never had. There was nothing on earth Jimmy would na have done for me. He was so big hearted, so generous! My God, how I have missed him! How I have missed him!"
"Your faith in Jimmy is strong," ventured the bewildered priest, for he did not see his way.
Dannie lifted his head. The sunshine was warming him, and his thoughts were beginning to clear.
"My faith in Jimmy Malone is so strong," he said, "that if I lost it, I never should trust another living mon. He had his faults to others, I admit that, but he never had ony to me. He was my friend, and above my life I loved him. I wad gladly have died to save him."
"And yet you say you are responsible for his death!"
"Let me tell ye!" cried Dannie eagerly, and began on the story the priest wanted to hear from him. As he finished Father Michael's face lighted.
"What folly!" he said, "that a man of your intelligence should torture yourself with the thought of responsibility in a case like that. Any one would have claimed the fish in those circumstances. Priest that I am, I would have had it, even if I fought for it. Any man would! And as for what followed, it was bound to come! He was a tortured man, and a broken one. If he had not lain out that night, he would a few nights later. It was not in your power to save him. No man can be saved from himself, Dannie. Did what he said make no impression on you?"
"Enough that I would have killed him with my naked hands if he had na taken it back. Of course he had to retract! If I believed that of Jimmy, after the life we lived together, I would curse God and mon, and break fra the woods, and live and dee there alone."
"Then what was he trying to tell you when he died?" asked the bewildered priest.
"To take care of Mary, I judge."
"Not to marry her; and take her for your own?"
Dannie began to tremble.
"Remember, I talked with him first," said Father Michael, "and what he confessed to me, he knew was final. He died before he could talk to you, but I think it is time to tell you what he wanted to say. He--he--was trying--trying to tell you, that there was nothing but love in his heart for you. That he did not in any way blame you. That--that Mary was yours. That you were free to take her. That----"
"What!" cried Dannie wildly. "Are ye sure? Oh, my God!"
"Perfectly sure!" answered Father Michael. "Jimmy knew how long and faithfully you had loved Mary, and she had loved you----"
"Mary had loved me? Carefu', mon! Are ye sure?"
"I know," said Father Michael convincingly. "I give you my priestly word, I know, and Jimmy knew, and was altogether willing. He loved you deeply, as he could love any one, Dannie, and he blamed you for nothing at all. The only thing that would have brought Jimmy any comfort in dying, was to know that you would end your life with Mary, and not hate his memory."
"Hate!" cried Dannie. "Hate! Father Michael, if ye have come to tell me that Jimmy na held me responsible fra his death, and was willing fra me to have Mary, your face looks like the face of God to me!" Dannie gripped the priest's hand. "Are ye sure? Are ye sure, mon?" He almost lifted Father Michael from the ground.
"I tell you, I know! Go and be happy!"
"Some ither day I will try to thank ye," said Dannie, turning away. "Noo, I'm in a little of a hurry." He was half way to the gate when he turned back. "Does Mary know this?" he asked.
"She does," said the priest. "You are one good man, Dannie, go and be happy, and may the blessing of God go with you."
Dannie lifted his hat.
"And Jimmy, too," he said, "put Jimmy in, Father Michael."
"May the peace of God rest the troubled soul of Jimmy Malone," said Father Michael, and not being a Catholic, Dannie did not know that from the blessing for which he asked.
He hurried away with the brightness of dawn on his lined face, which looked almost boyish under his whitening hair.
Mary Malone was at the window, and turmoil and bitterness were beginning to burn in her heart again. Maybe the priest had not found Dannie. Maybe he was not coming. Maybe a thousand things. Then he was coming. Coming straight and sure. Coming across the fields, and leaping fences at a bound. Coming with such speed and force as comes the strong man, fifteen years denied. Mary's heart began to jar, and thump, and waves of happiness surged over her. And then she saw that look of dawn, of serene delight on the face of the man, and she stood aghast. Dannie threw wide the door, and crossed her threshold with outstretched arms.
"Is it true?" he panted. "That thing Father Michael told me, is it true? Will ye be mine, Mary Malone? At last will you be mine? Oh, my girl, is the beautiful thing that the priest told me true?"
"The beautiful thing that the priest told him!"
Mary Malone swung a chair before her, and stepped back. "Wait!" she cried sharply. "There must be some mistake. Till me ixactly what Father Michael told you?"
"He told me that Jimmy na held me responsible fra his death. That he loved me when he died. That he was willing I should have ye! Oh, Mary, wasna that splendid of him. Wasna he a grand mon? Mary, come to me. Say that it's true! Tell me, if ye love me."
Mary Malone stared wide-eyed at Dannie, and gasped for breath.
Dannie came closer. At last he had found his tongue. "Fra the love of mercy, if ye are comin' to me, come noo, Mary" he begged. "My arms will split if they dinna get round ye soon, dear. Jimmy told ye fra me, sixteen years ago, how I loved ye, and he told me when he came back how sorry ye were fra me, and he--he almost cried when he told me. I never saw a mon feel so. Grand old Jimmy! No other mon like him!"
Mary drew back in desperation.
"You see here, Dannie Micnoun!" she screamed. "You see here----"
"I do," broke in Dannie. "I'm lookin'! All I ever saw, or see now, or shall see till I dee is `here,' when `here' is ye, Mary Malone. Oh! If a woman ever could understand what passion means to a mon! If ye knew what I have suffered through all these years, you'd end it, Mary Malone."
Mary gave the chair a shove. "Come here, Dannie," she said. Dannie cleared the space between them. Mary set her hands against his breast. "One minute," she panted. "Just one! I have loved you all me life, me man. I niver loved any one but you. I niver wanted any one but you. I niver hoped for any Hivin better than I knew I'd find in your arms. There was a mistake. There was an awful mistake, when I married Jimmy. I'm not tillin' you now, and I niver will, but you must realize that! Do you understand me?"
"Hardly," breathed Dannie. "Hardly!"
"Will, you can take your time if you want to think it out, because that's all I'll iver till you. There was a horrible mistake. It was you I loved, and wanted to marry. Now bend down to me, Dannie Micnoun, because I'm going to take your head on me breast and kiss your dear face until I'm tired," said Mary Malone.
An hour later Father Michael came leisurely down the lane, and the peace of God was with him.
A radiant Mary went out to meet him.
"You didn't till him!" she cried accusingly. "You didn't till him!"
The priest laid a hand on her head.
"Mary, the greatest thing in the whole world is self-sacrifice," he said. "The pot at the foot of the rainbow is just now running over with the pure gold of perfect contentment. But had you and I done such a dreadful thing as to destroy the confidence of a good man in his friend, your heart never could know such joy as it now knows in this sacrifice of yours; and no such blessed, shining light could illumine your face. That is what I wanted to see. I said to myself as I came along, `She will try, but she will learn, as I did, that she cannot look in his eyes and undeceive him. And when she becomes reconciled, her face will be so good to see.' And it is. You did not tell him either, Mary Malone!" | English | NL | decaac30e6e6f8a8db07a4607d83871e452a8a54793fbac68bea87eea53e3db1 |
b. 02/04/1847 Derry, Ireland. d. 27/04/1913 Cadenabbia, Lake Como, Italy.
Sir Edward Pemberton Leach (1847-1913) was born on 2nd April 1847 in Londonderry, Ireland, the 2nd son of Lieutenant-Colonel Sir George Archibald Leach (formerly of the Royal Engineers and later in the Civil Service and Secretary for Agriculture), and of Emily Leigh, eldest daughter of Edward Leigh Pemberton from Sittingbourne, Kent. Edward was educated at Highgate School and the Royal Military Academy, Woolwich. He was gazetted to the Royal Engineers on 17th April 1866, and served at Chatham until October 1868, sailing for India in the following November.
From March 1869 to February 1870, he commanded a detachment of the Bengal Sappers and Miners at Rawalpindi, and subsequently joined the Public Works Department in Central India. In October 1871, he was appointed to the Indian Survey, and served in his new capacity with the Cachar Column of the Lushai Expeditionary Force. In November 1877, he went on leave to England, but returned in 1878 as Private Secretary to Sir James Caird, Famine Commissioner. On the outbreak of the Afghan War, he joined the Khyber Survey Party and, while making a survey reconnaissance in the Shinwari country with detachments of the Guides Cavalry and the 45th Sikhs, was attacked by the enemy. It was during this action, that he would be awarded the VC (London Gazette, 6th December 1879).
On 17th March 1879, near Maidanah, Afghanistan, when covering the retirement of the Survey Escort who were carrying Lieutenant Barclay, 45th Sikhs who was mortally wounded, behaved with utmost gallantry in charging a much larger enemy force. In this encounter Captain Leach killed two or three of the enemy himself, and he received a severe wound from an Afghan knife in the left arm. Leach helped saved the party from annihilation from the enemy.
Leach actually received his medal just three days after it was gazetted, on 9th December 1879 at Windsor Castle from Queen Victoria. He was back in England because his arm wound had forced him to be invalided home. He recuperated and returned to India in March 1880, and joined the Kandahar Field Force, under Major-General Primrose, for survey work. He was later appointed Brigade Major, Royal Engineers, and was present at the final defeat of the enemy by Sir Frederick Roberts VC. He was mentioned in despatches four times, and given brevets of Major and Lieutenant-Colonel.
In 1885, he took part in the operations at Suakim, was twice mentioned in despatches and received the CB for his gallantry at Tofrek Zareba, then commanding a brigade at Korosko and afterwards at Assouan (1885-1886). After a short time back in England, he was given command of the 9th Division, 3rd Army Corps in Belfast, before becoming Commander in Chief in Scotland, a post he held for 4 years. In 1906 he was made a KCVO, and in 1909 was knighted by King Edward VII. He had been married since 1883 to Elizabeth Mary Bazley, and they had a son and two daughters. He was promoted to Lieutenant-General in 1905, and General in 1910, before he retired in 1912. He chose to live his retirement in Italy on the banks of Lake Como. He died on 27th April 1913 at Cadenabbia, Italy, and was buried in Cimitero di Griante, near Cadenabbia. The grave was recently renovated through the excellent work of the Victoria Cross Trust earlier this year. His medals are held and displayed by the Royal Engineers Museum, Chatham, Kent.
LOCATION OF MEDAL: ROYAL ENGINEERS MUSEUM, CHATHAM, KENT.
BURIAL PLACE: GRIENZA CHURCHYARD, LAKE COMO, ITALY.
Edward Leach's medals including his VC on display at the Royal Engineers Museum, Chatham, Kent (April 2012).
Royal Engineers Museum Roll of Honour, Chatham
Leach's grave renovated by the Victoria Cross Trust in April 2017 | English | NL | ffc80b1f88a04367258f76c6aeda92aec7bea48a66394735c4bead0cfdcb394e |
Applied Process Cooling
Office Stationery Supplier in Modesto, CA
APTCO. Is a service firm to business forms distributors. The history of APTCO. Is mostly a history of it's founder/owner Al Pipkins, CFC. Al began with the big direct in 1963. After few years and some towns, he decided there had to be a better way. He began his 1st distributorship in Mobile, Alabama in the summer of 1975. He merged with a competitor in 1979, and finally left to begin APTCO. In 1985. The present Service bureau concept began in 1993. This was a concept born of beliefs of what Al felt to be obvious truths. | English | NL | 47be6318e1226199c3b61cc3e90c69f314d5a4b619a83a89825f822193eda0d9 |
It’s no secret that I have a penchant for stoles. In fact, two Christmases ago, my dear G. cataloged them. That’s right. I have a catalog of my stoles.
Last September, Greg gave me this beauty–a lovely addition to my collection, don’t you think?
I love the interweaving golden streams of fabric, the doves descending. Truly, it’s just beautiful.
This one doesn’t get out often; I like to save it for special days. But it did make an appearance the last Sunday in celebration of the Transfiguration. Need a refresher on that story? Here it is:
Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, ‘Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.’ While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!’ When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, ‘Get up and do not be afraid.’ And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.
As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, ‘Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.’ And the disciples asked him, ‘Why, then, do the scribes say that Elijah must come first?’ He replied, ‘Elijah is indeed coming and will restore all things; but I tell you that Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but they did to him whatever they pleased. So also the Son of Man is about to suffer at their hands.’ Then the disciples understood that he was speaking to them about John the Baptist. (Mt. 17)
I suspect it’ll make another appearance at, you know, Easter, and probably the Ascension. Who knows? Maybe even more than that! But for now, it’s safely hanging in my vestment closet waiting for Lent to come and go. | English | NL | c6137292a5d6dae8757c005105ced53820a833d14d2d38fcc979bb1a3a05548b |
(June 7, 1804-Dec. 29, 1880). The first medical missionary sent out by the Episcopal Church. He was born in Middletown (now Cromwell), Connecticut, and graduated from Yale in 1825. He received his M.D. from the Yale Medical School in 1833 and graduated from the Virginia Theological Seminary in 1836. Savage was ordained deacon on July 17, 1836, and priest on Oct. 23, 1836. On Nov. 1, 1836, he sailed for Africa as a missionary of the Domestic and Foreign Missionary Society and reached Cape Palmas, Liberia, on Dec. 25, 1836. He resigned his missionary work in Dec. 1846. In 1848-1849 he was the rector of St. James' Church, Livingston, Alabama, and from 1849 to 1857 he was the rector of Trinity Church, Pass Christian, Mississippi. From 1857 to 1868 he lived in Pass Christian and worked in education. In 1869 he became the associate secretary of the Foreign Committee of the Board of Missions, and from 1871 until his death he was rector of the Church of the Ascension, Rhinecliff, New York. While in Africa, Savage studied the bones and skulls of an animal that proved to be the gorilla, which was previously unknown. He also published scientific articles. He died in Rhinecliff.
Savage, Thomas Staughton
Glossary definitions provided courtesy of Church Publishing Incorporated, New York, NY,(All Rights reserved) from "An Episcopal Dictionary of the Church, A User Friendly Reference for Episcopalians," Don S. Armentrout and Robert Boak Slocum, editors. | English | NL | dbc20b1eb22ac6cdfec901680db4c73678887c600196f0c2e3b7b12d7e552df7 |
Tips on Preserving Worthy Health
There are many cases where people lack to take care of their bodies. I is advisable that one should always take care of themselves. Having a chance to preserve good health is usually a good thing because one gains a lot.
The best part is that after looking after oneself there is a possibility of being able to do away with expenses. It is also known that when people take good care of themselves they manage to be very active in life.
For one to enjoy such benefits it is best that one gets to take care of themselves. We get to look in details some of the different ways that one can be able to maintain good health.
It is best that one makes sure that they have high self esteem. When people talk of negative things about you and you have a high selfesteem it is very easy for one to be in a position to do away with all that. With such ability one will be able to shield themselves when attacked.
Eating healthy is one of the things that one should make sure they do. It is necessary that one makes sure that they have a balanced diet. Choosing the products to eat is never a bad things. It is necessary that one visits the websites and from there one will be able to see all the meals that are termed healthy and those which are not. It is necessary that one ensures that they have that here, that is from the website they get details on what should be consumed for the different meals.
For one who is looking after their health they should ensure that they exercise regularly. One of the gains attained from exercising is that one is able to do away with any kind of stress in an individual. Where one wants to eliminate the fat from the body one should make sure they exercise. There are websites that have been created to act as guidelines to people who are so much into exercising and they do not know what to do.
Another way that one can ensure that they are maintaining their health is by having good relations. People who bring stress into ones life they should be done away with.
It is a common thing that people never sleep enough. Sleep is a major thing about that one should take seriously. Here, one having enough sleep they manage to have enough rest.
Being in a position to make sure that one is able to work and do other activities is needed. This means that one should have time for all things.
There are people who are usually worried of all that the future has to give. The best thing that should do is to make sure they enjoy the present.+-
Attributed by: Source | English | NL | 45a11212189cc37538aaf5e28447e89517be00f32d36f7620438b94b018948aa |
Howl's Moving Castle [Movie]
The curse of an evil witch turns a plain young hat-maker, Sophie, into an old woman. Sophie runs away to confront the witch and become young again when she rescues a trapped animated scarecrow. The scarecrow leads her to the giant, moving castle owned by the wizard Howl. Inside she befriends a fire demon, Calcifer, along with Howl’s young apprentice, Markl, eventually befriending Howl himself. Sophie becomes the castle’s old cleaning lady as she is swept into a journey to find the answers to both her problem and Howl’s own secrets.
Is Howl’s Moving Castle an adventure tale? A love story? Or purely a work of art like a grand painting on a humble canvas in a modest frame. This story is essential for any anime fan, you simply must watch this highlight of the Japanese animation industry. It’s hard to say any other story is better.
Howl’s Moving Castle
Also known as “Howl no Ugoku Shiro”, this show is written and directed by the great Hayao Miyazaki.
Premiered at the Venice Film Festival in 2004, and was released in Japan in November, and instantly became a hit classic and is now a multi-award-winning Japanese Movie. It is based on a novel written by a British author Diana Wynne Jones. It was animated by the popular Studio Ghibli, produced by Suzuki Toshio, and distributed by Toho animation.
The setting of the story is primarily in early 20th in a fictional kingdom during a war. The film tells a story about Sophie Hatter, a young hatter. Sophie meets Howl for the first time when he was saving her from the soldiers that’s harassing her using verbal harassments. He called her ‘’Sweetheart’’ and apologized that he was late and was ‘’looking for her’’ (Because Howl is a total womanizer in the past) He then put a spell on them and made them leave. Sophie is the eldest of the three sisters (Sophie, Lettie, and Martha Hatter) Sophie is aged eighteen, she has semi red/brown hair and rather beautiful although she doesn’t see it herself.
One night changed Sophie’s life. Her encounter with Howl has put her in a great deal of problem. The vengeful Witch of the Waste followed Howl and Sophie while they were taking their leave. Howl send her back to her little sister’s bakery and then left without a trace. In the later evening, The Witch of the Waste slowly entered their hat shop with a ghastly and kind of disturbing dark aura surrounding her. Since it was their closing time, she told the witch that the shop was closed even after the witch insulted her shop by calling it ‘’tacky’’ she just told her again that the store is closed. Out of jealousy because of Sophie’s brief moment of interaction with Howl, the witch cursed the young maiden; turning her into an old woman.(Around 90 years of age) Moments after she was cursed, Sophie decided to leave her shop, her mother, her sisters, and her friends.
Wanting to remove the curse and be young again, Sophie seeks out the witch to return her back to her normal state. Traveling from her town to the wastes, she wanted to pick up a cane to reduce the difficulty of walking because of her age. Luckily, she finds a perfect thing for her to use a cane. The cane was stuck in a bush and she used all her might to pull it out. Turns out, it was a scarecrow. (She named it Turnip-head) A scarecrow with a spell on it that makes it moves on its own. It got attached to Sophie. (Sophie was basically turning it away and told not to follow her) The wind breeze made her feel chills as she walks, so she asked the scarecrow if it can find her a place to rest and stay for the night. The scarecrow did what she asked and sought out for some shade. It was nearly evening when a gigantic steampunk and rickety castle walked towards Sophie. The scarecrow led it to her and she was surprised. She had no choice but to try because she was cold and tired fromwalking. (It’s better than nothing right?) The front door of the castle opened for her. Turnip-head handed her shawl that was blown away by the wind. (It was also the time they bid farewell.)
After she got in the castle, she meets Calcifer. (Self-proclaimed demon) Sophie was quite shocked to see Calcifer because his form is a red orange fire with life. (He also gets blue whenever chilled or splashed with water) He has eyes, mouth, and he can talk. Calcifer was the one who let Sophie in while she was wandering in the wastes and he’s the one moving the castle. While Sophie was still getting to know him, she asked him if he could break the spell that made her old. (Because he said he was a demon and can remove curses) Calcifer made a counter proposal for her. If Sophie could help Calcifer obtain his freedom, he will break the curse that was put into Sophie. After their talk, Sophie fell asleep while not having closure with their conversation. She woke up after heavy knocks on the door and then meets Markl, Howl’s little apprentice. (In the book, his name is Michael, who is a bit older than the anime version) He asked Sophie where she came from and she just said Calcifer took her in. Markl disguised himself as an old man with a long beard and wearing a dark hood. He opened the door. Now the most interesting part of Howl’s castle is the famous front door. The magic door has four colors on it and it leads you to different places depending on what color you choose. These four colors are; green, red, blue, and black. This door allows them to jump instantly on faraway places. Markl opened the blue door which leads to Porthaven. Sophie was amazed by the door and tried it for herself. The green door goes to the waste (where the castle is staying) the red door leads to Kingsbury (where soldiers gave an invitation to Howl at the Royal Palace) and the black door is called ‘’Howl’s portal’’ that only Howl knows and can use. (Calcifer knows where it leads too.)
When Howl returned from his errands, he caught Sophie cooking bacons and eggs for breakfast using Calcifer’s heat. (Markl was surprised because Calcifer only listens to Howl but he’s quite submissive to Sophie.) Howl helped her cook more breakfast for them. Sophie then introduced herself as Calcifer’s hired cleaning lady.
Sophie is very devoted to her job. She cleans every corner of the castle expect Howl’s room. Though there is one time Howl bursts out of his bath with a change of hair color. (His blonde hair turned orange) and blamed it on Sophie who admitted she just organized it for him. His hair then turned into a shade of black and they comforted him that it looks better. Howl threw a tantrum and said he can’t go on anymore if he’s not beautiful in people’s eyes. Howl begins to let out green slime all over his body because of the depression he feels towards his hair. (Markl admitted seeing it happen one time when he was dumped by a girl) Sophie felt guilty and yelled at him saying she was never even beautiful in her entire life. She ran outside the door and cried on the wastes. Markl hurriedly called her back so they can both clean howl.
Sophie then went to Howl’s room. (It was quite magical) Howl tells Sophie that he’s been summoned to the Royal Palace (Kingsbury) to defend the nation from the war between neighboring countries. He told Sophie to pretend as his mother and convince Madame Suliman (Howl’s former teacher) that he’s not needed in this war and that he’s coward to show up. Sophie goes to Kingsbury as Howl’s representative. She agreed to do it and Howl assured her he would follow her in disguise. He gave his ring to Sophie. She then came across the Witch of the Waste because she was on her way in the palace too with a Royal invitation. Along the way, Sophie spotted a dog that was following her and assumed it was Howl. (There was a time Howl admitted he was being chased by the witch because he used to pursue her because she was quite beautiful long ago but then her beauty faded and Howl stopped pursuing her).
It was both a challenge for Sophie and the Witch of the Waste to climb the stairs of the palace entrance.
As Sophie was led to meet Madame Suliman, the witch didn’t know that she was invited and was trapped in the chair she sat on and was stripped of her powers and returned her to her original age and state. Sophie then explains to Madame Suliman what Howl told her to say. Madame Suliman was not easily fooled and she realized that Sophie is in love with Howl. (Sophie reverted back to her original state for a moment while she was explaining to Madame Suliman and then gets old again) Howl arrived in disguise as the king, but it was futile. Knowing danger was upon them, Howl made Sophie escape along with the witch and the dog. (The dog was actually Suliman’s watchdog) Sophie fled the palace using a plane that Howl stole and Howl took the opposite way. They crashed the plane on Howl’s castle.
Because of the danger imposing Sophie and the others, Howl moved the castle after he arrived next morning. Howl meets the Turnip-head and acknowledged him as a part of their growing family .The interior looks exactly like Sophie’s hat shop along with a new portal of the castle’s door. The new portals were colored pink and yellow. The pink one leads to Howl’s garden and the yellow one goes to Market Chipping. Howl and Sophie went in the pink portal where there’s a beautiful field full of blooming flowers. Sophie became young again (only her hair was silver/white) and asked Howl if he’s leaving her. He didn’t answer, then she told him, “Please, Howl, I know I can be of help to you. Even though I’m not pretty, and all I’m good at is cleaning.” Howl responds, “Sophie, you’re beautiful!” At that moment, Sophie grew old again, and an enemy warship approached the field. Howl cast the spell on the ship and destroyed it. Sophie turned the hat shop into a flower shop, and her mother visited her. Her mother secretly left a black eel-like blob, and the Witch threw it in Calcifer’s mouth.
He became weak, and is unable to defend the castle when the country is thrust into war. Sophie runs outside, fully young as she has unknowingly broke her own curse, and watches as Howl saves the shop from a falling bomb. Howl healed Calcifer, and Sophie begs him not to go out into the war again. He responds, “Sorry, I’ve had enough of running away, Sophie. Now I’ve got something to protect; it’s you.” And he went out again. (It is revealed that the black door leads to a place where warships and Howl’s kind are fighting each other. It was full of fire and explosions) the castle got wrecked.
Sophie later on gave her hair to Calcifer to make him stronger enough to move the castle. The Witch of the Waste realized that Calcifer has Howl’s heart, and she took him from the floor. She began to burn, and Sophie threw a bucket of water on her. Calcifer went out, causing the castle to fall apart. Sophie fell over a cliff, along with the dog. The ringsthat Howl gave her glows blue, and lead them to the portal from the castle.
She opened it up, and entered the black void that only Howl has been in. She ends up in the past, and witnessed Howl as a kid. Weird stars are falling from the sky, and she ran out to stop him from making a pact with Calcifer. However, Howl swallowed the star before Sophie can reach him, and Calcifer is born, with Howl’s small heart beating within. Sophie called out to him, telling him to find her in the future then fell back through the door, where Howl is waiting for her. She kissed him but he is unresponsive, but brought her to the castle. Sophie asked the witch to give Calcifer back to Howl and when she did, she pushed Calcifer back in Howl’s chest. Calcifer has been freed and Howl woke up with a weight on his chest and remarks how beautiful Sophie’s hair is.
Sophie kissed Turnip-head and he turned out to be a prince from a neighbouring country and promised them to end the war. The last scene was the castle flying in the sky. Markl and the dog play in a small garden, with the Witch and Calcifer watching over. Sophie and Howl shared a kiss, and the castle slowly melted away in the breeze. | English | NL | 14108a01112cd7df39cc6d9efb3a5925bfd22d5a506a6dca7e39db1776878b6a |
Any composer would tell you this: the first notes you hear in a movie are certainly the most important ones in order to set the tone and the musical identity of the film. Remember the sound of Lebo M’s chant during the Lion King sunset? Or the native chant at the beginning of Brother Bear?
For Frozen, the creators of the movie chose to turn to an intensely poetic and deliberately authentic piece: a “Vuelie”, written by Norwegian composer Frode Fjellheim.
Fjellheim first trained in jazz at the Trondheim Conservatory of music and then combined that style with his Sàmi background in creating his very own style, a kind of a mix of jazz, electronic and traditional music some have characterized as “world music”.
That unique personality is certainly the reason why Disney turned to this artist to create no less than the musical opening of their latest hit, giving Frozen its own, genuine voice.
It is also certainly the reason why Fjellheim received praise from the Norwegian Sámi President for spreading yoik to new audiences.
We asked the composer to share with us some part of his culture that shines through Vuelie.
AnimatedViews: How would you introduce yourself?
Frode Fjellheim: I am a musician and composer living in Trondheim, Norway. I have a band called «Transjoik», and work as a producer, composer and musician. I am also a professor in music at «HiNT», a university college in my region – running a coarse in «yoik», traditional Sàmi chant.
AV: How were you contacted by Disney and how did they present their Frozen project to you?
FF: I was presented with the project very shortly – along with a request for using my existing composition «Eatnemen Vuelie» in the film.
AV: From that piece, how did you create the Frozen piece?
FF: The original piece was a mix between a yoik-inspired melody and a hymn floating on top of that. For the film, they asked if I could make a new version, without the hymn part. That hymn was called Deilig er jorden – meaning “wonderful is the Earth”. 19th-century-Danish poet Bernhard Severin Ingemann wrote the lyrics for this in 1850. In English speaking countries the same folk tune is known as “Fairest Lord Jesus”.
So I worked together with film composer Christophe Beck to compose a new version for this film. In the end, the Disney version was developed by keeping all of the original yoik-inspired parts and most of my original arrangement. The melody floating on top was made by me and Christophe Beck. We tried out different versions – and ended up with a mix between his and my ideas.
AV: Do the lyrics have any meaning?
FF: The syllables have no linguistic meaning. They are just a part of the vocal style.
AV: What is a “vuelie” exactly?
FF: Vuelie is the South Sámi word for “a yoik”. Yoik is both a type of Saami song, and a unique vocal style used to perform this (often referred to as “chanting”). The Saami people and the Sámi culture is found in Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia.
AV: How did you gather all these influences to make that wonderful piece consistent?
FF: I wanted to compose something with two very different vocal elements. The deep “chant-like” yoik, combined with a more classical vocal style. The result clearly shows the difference between them, enhancing their uniqueness when heard together. At the same time I wanted the styles to blend – forming an original choral sound.
AV: How was it, working with score composer Christopher Beck?
FF: Beck was of course monitoring the process closely. It was a great pleasure working together with him, and the end result also involved some of his ideas for the melody in the soprano part.
AV: How did the recording go ?
FF: We did the recording in a studio here in Trondheim, and used two evenings for the recording. The choir “Cantus” had rehearsed the piece well, but we also did some final adjustments in the studio. Senior VP Tom MacDougall from Disney and a sound engineer from Christophe Beck came to Trondheim to make sure they got what they wanted. It all went very smooth, and we were all happy with the result.
AV: Can you tell me about that ensemble, Cantus, and the way they performed the piece for the movie soundtrack?
FF: Cantus is a choir conducted by a very experienced conductor, Tove Ramlo Ystad. I have worked with them several times, and have composed and arranged a lot of music for them. They have a very unique sound – a sound that for most people abroad probably will be described as “Nordic”.
AV: Did you have any input in Christopher Beck’s “Heimr Arnadarl”, played during the coronation service ?
FF: No, my part is only used in the beginning and in the end, The Great Thaw.
AV: What will you remember from that very experience ?
FF: I always felt well taken care of in the project, and never feared my integrity as a composer was threatened.
The two weeks I worked to compose and produce demos in August and September were intense – and demanding. Mostly because I had not planned to do this (of course). So I ended up spending late night hours at the same time as I was running a few other projects. But most of all this was a truly special project, and a collaboration with a very professional and focused Disney team.
AV: It is very satisfying to see how Disney gave attention to making this film sound that authentic, don’t you think?
FF: As far as I know, they did a lot of research prior to the making of the film and during the project. But Disney should perhaps answer this themselves – whether the goal was to have something “authentic” – or just some relevant inspiration for making this animated movie. In any case I think the opening sequence with my music is beautiful and unique, and I feel very happy to have been involved in it.
Our warmest thanks to Frode Fjellheim. | English | NL | 60d714afb4b57e85725cf30b7f40c6496b5dbdbd4fee8b7c28d06a6e5d1389a7 |
Hal Jordan is just the type of person to have a superhero movie set around him. He is like a combination of Tony Stark (Iron Man) and Doctor Who, he is completely sure of his own abilities and has no room in his life for modesty. Jordan works as a military pilot, but when a green bubble picks him up and transports him to the side of a dying alien, his life is changed. Hal inherits a mystical ring, a lantern and some cool powers, and before long he is defending the Earth from a rather annoyed force called the Parallax.
All of this sounds great in theory, but it is in the execution that The Green Lantern fails to deliver. First of all, for those who love Ryan Reynolds (why!?), he is beefed up to the max, but missed several opportunities to take his top off. Reynolds does well with a very thinly scripted character and brings a little charm to the role. The problem is that we know so little of the character’s motivation, wants and needs that it is difficult to understand why he does what he does, other than that he has been chosen. There is a small training/fight sequence with Jordan before he gives up on his new found responsibility and goes home – Cartman style. From there, he floats around in his green muscle suit, showing off to his friends and a girl he didn’t really like at the start of the film, but now has to have.
The supporting cast have equal problems working with what they have been given, Tim Robbins and Peter Saarsgard battle against their badly written characters in attempts to bring some life to the screen. Sadly, this does not work. These are two of the finest actors working today, and they are left to languish in the background. This whole side of the story could have been written out, and not even missed.
The danger that Jordan faces is the Parallax, and while the ‘X’ at the end of the villains name makes him sound cool, there is little else to him. He was one of the Immortals, was corrupted by fear and now goes around the galaxy nomming on people to feed his strength. He wants to destroy the earth, but again, we never know his motivation other than revenge against his fellow Immortals and… frankly, omnomnomnom.
The special effects and 3D swing between the sublime and the ridiculous. At times the images on screen look fantastic and the 3D feels almost worth it. At others, the special effects look cobbled together and the 3D is badly realised and squint inducing.
In all, The Green Lantern is a badly made film relying on nostalgia and fans of the series to get bums on seats. The characters are thin and badly realised, fantastic actors are wasted and questions are raised but never answered. The Green Lantern is the latest in a long line of films in the superhero genre (if it can be called that) that are failing to deliver. The technology is getting better, but the scriptwriters appear to be sitting back and relying on 3D and other effects to make up for the bad storytelling. The Green Lantern is not even good bad, it’s just bad. It has none of the shlock of genuinely good bad films, but is not as laughably funny as Clash of the Titans.
I was considering having a snooze to pass the time while this film was on. Instead I took my 3D glasses off – which actually made the film look slightly better. Avoid at all cost. | English | NL | ae26d013406992b2a305facd530bd7ca4826828d11e8a484e1fae4349024e9a8 |
3. Paul’s Perspective as a Prisoner (Phil. 1:3-11)
This past week, convicted murderer Ponchai Wilkerson was executed in Huntsville, Texas. He was apparently a violent man. He was one of those who attempted to escape from death row in the Ellis Unit at Huntsville on Thanksgiving night, 1998. This was but one of his two attempts to escape. Last month, he held a guard hostage during a 13-hour standoff with prison officials. Prior to his execution, Wilkerson declined a last meal, refused to tell prison officials how to dispose of his body, and refused to leave his holding cell near the death chamber. Physical force and additional restraints were required to strap him down to his gurney. In the final seconds of his life, Wilkerson turned his head to the side and—to the amazement of prison officials—spit out a key that was used on handcuffs and leg restraints. One does not know for certain, but it would almost appear that this was his final act of rebellion. A bitter and angry man could certainly find some satisfaction in producing such a key, leaving officials to wonder how he possibly obtained it, and then managed to conceal it until his final breath.
What a refreshing and remarkable contrast the Apostle Paul is to this Texas prisoner. Paul was a prisoner for the cause of Christ. He wrote the letter to the Philippians during his confinement as he waited for the time when he would stand trial before Caesar. From what Paul tells us in chapter 2 of this epistle, one could almost say that he was on “death row.” Consequently, the outcome of his trial was not yet known, but it was apparent that he might be found guilty of treason and thus condemned to death by Caesar. But far from reading the bitter words of a hardened, belligerent prisoner, we find a wonderfully warm and tender man, taking what could be his final opportunity to express his love and concern for the saints at Philippi.
I do have a confession to make. I agonized a great deal over this message. I had read a scholarly article on a couple of verses in this text, and I found it appealing. But by embracing this point of view, I could not seem to get a handle on this text. It was then that I remembered a friend who is a preacher in another part of the country. He was struggling with a certain passage of Scripture, and Sunday was bearing down upon him. He could not decide what to do, and so we talked by e-mail. After hearing his dilemma, I wrote this response:
“I think you are suffering from a case of over-scholasticitis. You’ve gotten so entrenched in the details that the big (and, in my mind, rather obvious) picture is getting out of focus. I must say that I often experience the same thing, and when I do, I realize I have to put the technical works (most commentaries fit here) away, read the text repeatedly, and ask myself what the flow of the author’s argument is.…The Bible wasn’t written for technicians (linguistically and literarily speaking); it was written to common, everyday people. If your argument cannot be followed by the person in the pew, reading in their English text, then it’s probably flawed.”
Late this week, I realized I was experiencing the very same problem, and I had to go back through my e-mail messages to find my own advice and read it again, as it applied to this text and this sermon. Our text is not really that difficult at all, but I had made it difficult by getting overly technical and missing the message. You might say I had been “straining gnats and swallowing camels” (see Matthew 23:23-24).
I decided to simply step back from the text and to look at it more broadly. In his so-called “second missionary journey,” the Apostle Paul and his colleagues had been divinely directed to “Come over to Macedonia and help us” (Acts 16:9). Paul and the others traveled to Philippi, where they proclaimed the gospel to Lydia, the Philippian jailor, and others (Acts 16:11ff.). These and others had come to faith, and a church was born. The relationship between Paul and this particular church had been especially close. This epistle is written to the Philippian church some 10-12 years after Paul first came to Philippi. During this interval, Paul has corresponded with a number of other churches. From my reckoning, this would include his Epistle to the Galatians and his two Corinthian Epistles.
As you will recall, there were very serious problems at Corinth and elsewhere that required Paul to speak quite sternly to these saints. I am impressed with how different the spirit (or tone) of this Philippian correspondence is from that of Galatians or 1 and 2 Corinthians. When Paul writes to the Philippians, he tells them that he is eager to come to see them and to minister to them. When he speaks to the Corinthians, he is warning the church that if they don’t correct some of their problems before he arrives, they are not going to like what they see when he arrives personally (2 Corinthians 12:20--13:2).
Paul was a man who deeply cared about the saints, even those who had come to faith apart from his ministry. He had a deep concern, and he agonized over reports of sin and willful disobedience: “Apart from other things, there is the daily pressure on me of my anxious concern for all the churches. 29 Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is led into sin, and I do not burn with indignation?” (2 Corinthians 11:28-29)
As Paul writes to the Philippians, he is incarcerated in Rome, awaiting trial before Caesar. He is not able to visit this church; all he can do is get reports, either from visitors like Epaphroditus, or by receiving correspondence. He can write, and he can pray, but he certainly is not free to minister as he would prefer.
As I read Paul’s words in our text, I am reminded of these words, penned by Moses and recorded in Psalm 90, a prayer of Moses, the man of God:
1 O sovereign master, you have been our protector through all generations! 2 Even before the mountains came into existence, or you brought the world into being, you were the eternal God. 3 You make mankind return to the dust, and say, “Return, O people!” 4 Yes, in your eyes a thousand years are like yesterday that quickly passes, or like one of the divisions of the nighttime. 5 You bring their lives to an end and they fall “asleep.” In the morning they are like the grass that sprouts up,6 in the morning it glistens and sprouts up; at evening time it withers and dries up. 7 Yes, we are consumed by your anger, we are terrified by your wrath. 8 You are aware of our sins, you even know about our hidden sins. 9 Yes, throughout all our days we experience your raging fury, the years of our lives pass quickly, like a sigh. 10 The days of our lives add up to seventy years, or eighty, if one is especially strong. But even one’s best years are marred by trouble and oppression. Yes, they pass quickly and we fly away. 11 Who can really fathom the intensity of your anger? Your raging fury causes people to fear you. 12 So teach us to consider our mortality, so that we might live wisely. 13 Turn back toward us, O LORD! How long must this suffering last? Have pity on your servants! 14 Satisfy us in the morning with your loyal love! Then we will shout for joy and be happy all our days! 15 Make us happy in proportion to the days you have afflicted us, in proportion to the years we have experienced trouble! 16 May your servants see your work! May their sons see your majesty! 17 May our sovereign God extend his favor to us! Make our endeavors successful! Yes, make them successful! (Psalm 90:1-17, emphasis mine).
No one really knows when Moses wrote this psalm, but it is my opinion that it may well have been written during the time the first generation of Israelites was dying in the wilderness. Moses had invested his life serving these people, and they had often stiffened their necks against God and rebelled. Knowing that the end of his days was near, and that this generation was dying off, Moses became painfully aware of the mortality of man. Men come and quickly go. Moses desired that God would impress him with the brevity of life, and that He would somehow prosper the work of his hands, that his lifetime of ministry would not be wasted.
Can we not see that Paul could have felt the same way? Paul was now under house arrest, and his ministry had been greatly restricted, so far as his freedom to visit the churches was concerned. Paul knew, thanks to Rome, that his days were numbered, and he surely wanted his ministry to have counted for eternity. He wished to be comforted by knowing that those in whom he had invested his life would carry on in his absence.
I believe these early verses in Philippians 1 emphatically declare Paul’s perspective regarding the Philippian saints, their spiritual growth, and their future. In verses 12-18a, Paul discloses his perspective on his present adversity and the response of others to it. Then, in verses 18b-26, Paul will give us his perspective on his future, whether that be life or death. Let us listen well to this great man, so that we may learn to see things as he does, for our good and the glory of God.
Paul, What’s That Smile Doing on Your Face?
3 I thank my God every time I remember you. 4 Always in my every prayer for all of you I pray with joy 5 because of your participation in the gospel from the first day until now. 6 For I am sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.
If there is one thing that is clear in these verses (not to mention the rest of the book), it is that Paul is a happy, joyful Christian. His present circumstances looked less than promising, but Paul was jubilant and joyful. John Piper has written many excellent books, but my all-time favorite is still, Desiring God: The Meditations of a Christian Hedonist. Piper’s thesis is that it is not wrong for a Christian to experience great pleasure in this life, so long as his pleasure is in the right things. To take pleasure in God is good. To take pleasure in one’s fond remembrances of a dearly beloved church is a good thing.
Just what is it, though, that gives Paul such pleasure when he thinks about the saints at Philippi? He tells us in verses 3-6. Note first that Paul’s thoughts of the Philippians are in the context of his prayers for them. When Paul says he “remembers” these saints, he means that he is remembering them in his prayers. Every time Paul uses this term of his remembrances, he uses it in reference to his prayers of remembrance.15 His prayers for the Philippians are joyful.
Paul gives two reasons for his joyful prayers for the Philippians. First, Paul is joyful because of their participation (fellowship or koinonia) in the gospel from the first day to the present (verse 5). Here is where scholasticitis almost did me in. I read a scholarly article in which the author concluded that the “participation” to which Paul referred was primarily (if not exclusively) the gifts he had received from the Philippians. I would not go so far as to say that Paul completely avoids their gift here, but I am persuaded that this is not his primary meaning.
- Jesus taught that money is a little thing (Luke 16:10). Paul would not make a “big thing” out of something that was really not that important.
- It is clear that Paul downplays his need for the gift, and any hint that he seeks yet another gift.
- Paul leaves the matter of their gift till the last possible moment in this book.
- I decided to list all of Paul’s prayers and, in the process, discovered something important. Paul’s prayers consistently begin with praise, and then move to petition. Furthermore, in Paul’s praise, he almost always gives thanks for the faith of the recipients of his letter. He gives thanks, “for your faith,” not “for your check.”
- This forces me to conclude that when Paul gives thanks for the “fellowship” or “participation” of the Philippians “in the gospel from the first day till now,” he is referring primarily to their “fellowship” with him by virtue of coming to faith in Jesus Christ. This “participation” in salvation did manifest itself in hospitality and generosity. Both Lydia and the Philippian jailor invited Paul and Silas into their homes once they came to faith. But the thrust of Paul’s joy is that they were saved, and not that they sent him gifts. A study of the fourth chapter of this epistle will make that much more apparent.
Second, Paul’s prayers are joyful because Paul is assured that the Philippian church will persevere and grow, with or without him: “For I am sure of this very thing, that the one who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus” (verse 6).
The “good work” here is surely that of salvation, and not the giving of the gifts Paul had received (contrary to the scholarly article I read). Here was Paul, confined to his quarters, accused by Jews of treason, and accused by some of his brethren of wrong doing (Philippians 1:17). If Paul were to be found guilty by Caesar, and his life was cut short, would this church survive? Could these people manage to get along without him? Would God (in the words of Moses) “confirm the work of Paul’s hands”?
The answer is a resounding and confident, “Yes!” First, this was not Paul’s work; it was God’s. This was not Paul’s church; it was God’s. Paul had not begun the work in Philippi; God had. From the Macedonian vision in Troas (Acts 16:8-10) to the meeting with the women by the riverside to the miraculous conversion of the jailor, it was all the work of God. God finishes what He starts. No one was more confident of this than Paul. God initiated the salvation of the Philippians and the birth of the church. God would complete His work, with or without Paul. The Philippians’ security did not rest with Paul, but with God. Whatever Paul’s fate might be, the fate of the Philippians was not at risk.
Paul’s confidence in God’s ability to preserve and prosper His church is seen in another text as well:
9 He is the one who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not based on our works but on his own purpose and grace, granted to us in Christ Jesus before time began, 10 but now made visible through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus. He has broken the power of death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel! 11 For this gospel I was appointed a preacher and apostle and teacher. 12 Because of this, in fact, I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, because I know the one in whom my faith is set and I am convinced that he is able to protect what has been entrusted to me until that day (2 Timothy 1:9-12, emphasis mine).
The NET Bible has done an excellent job here, because most translations render verse 12 in a very different way:
For this reason I also suffer these things, but am not ashamed; for I know whom I have believed and I am convinced that He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day (NASV, emphasis mine).
There is a difference of opinion as to how this verse should be rendered, but I believe the NET Bible is correct. Paul is not just confident about his own salvation; he is confident about his ministry. Those whom God entrusted to the apostle, to serve and shepherd for a period of time, God will surely protect. God cares for His own. What an encouragement this was to Paul, whose future was certainly at risk. He was an endangered species, and he knew it, but the church was not. Here was the basis for Paul’s confidence and joy, in the midst of his adversity.
7 For it is right for me to think this about all of you, because I have you in my heart, since both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel all of you became partners together with me in the grace of God. 8 For God is my witness that I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus.
I confess, I borrowed the title “Religious Affections” from Jonathan Edwards, since this was the title of one of his finest works. Verses 7 and 8 are about Paul’s “religious affections” for the Philippians. When you read books like 2 Corinthians or Galatians, Paul comes across like a watchdog, but when you read Philippians and Paul’s Thessalonian epistles, Paul comes across like a lap dog. Paul has a deep, enduring love and affection for the Philippians that is mutual. Paul has deep affections for these folks, and it is right for him to do so. He does have these folks in his heart. In other words, thoughts of them are constantly in his mind, and this is reflected in his prayers for them. The intimacy of their relationship has grown through times of blessing, times of need, and times of adversity.
The word “partners” in verse 7 is a slightly different form of the term “koinonia.” They have become co-partners with Paul in his imprisonment and in his defense of the gospel. Paul’s imprisonment was not about treason, as his Jewish opponents contended; it was about the gospel he preached: Christ and Christ crucified. It was dangerous business to identify with a man charged with treason. They, of course, remained faithful to Paul because they understood his role in defending the gospel. There is a bond which we form with those in the heat of battle or in times of great sorrow or trials. The Philippians had not forsaken Paul, and thus he had them constantly on his heart. He loved these people in Christ. He loved these people like Christ.
Paul’s Prayer For the Philippians
9 And I pray this, that your love may abound even more and more in knowledge and every kind of insight 10 so that you can decide what is best, and so be sincere and blameless for the day of Christ, 11 filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ to the glory and praise of God.
Paul’s prayer for the Philippians is similar to his prayers for other saints, as you might expect. But this is no “boilerplate prayer” either. Let’s focus on what is unique about the specifics of this prayer. First, take note of the fact that Paul prays for their continued growth in Christ. In verse 6, Paul has just indicated his certainty that God would complete the work He had begun in the Philippians’ lives. In other words, Paul was convinced that they would continue to grow, because God would bring that to pass. But now, Paul prays that they will grow in their faith. It is obvious, is it not, that Paul prays for what God promises? Paul’s certainty regarding the sanctification of these saints was not an excuse for failing to pray toward that end. We pray for what God has promised because He is the One who will bring it to pass. We are to pray because we are instructed to pray, because prayer expresses our dependence on Him, and thus it glorifies Him.
Second, Paul prays that the Philippians will grow as their love grows in knowledge and discernment. One of the most foolish statements I have ever read is, “Love is blind.” Love is not blind! Love does not close its eyes to the truth, to reality, to sin. What a horrible thing it would be if love truly were blind. Christian love must operate according to truth. We are to “practice the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15). Love has its eyes wide open to how things are, as well as to how things ought to be. Love acts wisely, making choices that are based upon discernment. Love does not always do what the other person wants us to do. Love does not always do what our culture thinks we should do. Love acts wisely to achieve what is in the best interest of the one loved.
Third, Paul’s prayers reveal a heavenly perspective. Paul’s prayers are not that the Philippians might experience “the good life” of peace and prosperity in this world, but that at the coming of our Lord, they might be found pleasing to the Savior. Paul is like the father of the bride, who wants to present the bride to her groom in purity and perfection: “For I am jealous for you with godly jealousy, because I promised you in marriage to one husband, to present you as a pure virgin to Christ” (2 Corinthians 11:2). Paul desires that the Philippians will bear the fruit of Christlikeness, which will bring glory and praise to God. Bringing glory to God should be the ultimate goal of every Christian:
31 So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God. 32 Do not give offense to Jews or Greeks or to the church of God, 33 just as I also try to please everyone in all things. I do not seek my own benefit, but that of many, so that they may be saved (1 Corinthians 10:31-33).
I remember very well the first funeral I ever performed. This woman was dying of cancer, and she had come to faith through the witness of her Christian friends. I visited her quite often, and we openly talked about her death and the blessings that were waiting for her. One day, a Christian friend had been there visiting just before I arrived. This dying woman told me that their conversation had not turned to spiritual things, and that it was not a very profitable visit. This woman had her eyes on the goal; she wanted to talk about the Christian’s hope, not about the Dallas Cowboys’ football score. And when she died, her husband went around to those gathered at her grave saying, “She never knew.” I couldn’t believe it. It never occurred to me that she didn’t know she was dying. She knew, and she was heaven-bound. That’s why she wanted to talk about the day of Christ.16
I can almost hear my readers sighing in relief. This looks like the kind of passage that won’t be too hard on us, doesn’t it? Well, I have to tell you that this text has proven very convicting to me. Let me focus on some areas of application.
First, in our text, we see that Paul lived as though his days were numbered. You will recall that I likened Paul’s circumstances to those of Moses, and his concerns as being similar to those expressed in Psalm 90. Paul had learned to “number his days.” Paul wrote to and prayed for these saints, because he knew that sooner or later he would not be able to minister to them personally.
I wonder how many of us have learned to “number our days.” We act as though tomorrow were a certain thing, but such presumption is sin (James 4:13-17). Our lost friends and relatives are rushing headlong to their eternal destruction apart from Christ. Are you and I living in the light of our departure and of the coming of our Lord?
Second, notice that Paul did not use the sovereignty of God as an excuse for passivity in prayer. It was Paul’s assurance that God would finish the good work He started in the Philippians that motivated Paul to pray (and work) for their growth. God’s sovereignty is the incentive for effort, not our excuse for passivity.
Third, Paul’s words and actions in our text remind us that we don’t have to be physically present to minister. I am reminded of 1 Corinthians 5, where Paul writes to the church concerning their toleration of sin. A man was living with his father’s wife, and the church did nothing about it. Worse yet, some seemed to take pride in this. Paul, though distant, takes action. In effect, he commences church discipline long distance.
In our text, Paul is far removed from the Philippians and is not free to come to them. This does not keep Paul from ministering to these saints. Paul writes this epistle; he will send Epaphroditus and then Timothy, and he persistently and fervently prays for these saints and their growth. Look what Paul did to minister to the Philippians without a mail service, without telephones, without e-mail. Absence is really no excuse for us, either. We can minister from a distance, as Paul did.
Fourth, we can learn much from Paul’s joy. What was it that gave Paul such joy, such pleasure? It was the Philippians themselves, especially their participation in the gospel and their growth in their faith. Paul’s joy was not in receiving gifts, not in comfortable living. Paul’s joy was in having a part in the salvation and growth of lost sinners.
17 But when we were separated from you, brothers and sisters, for a short time (in presence, not in affection) we became all the more fervent in our great desire to see you in person. 18 For we wanted to come to you (I, Paul, in fact tried again and again) but Satan thwarted us. 19 For who is our hope or joy or crown to boast of before our Lord Jesus at his coming? Is it not of course you? 20 For you are our glory and joy! (1 Thessalonians 2:17-19)
Paul’s joy and his reward (crown) was people, specifically people who had been saved from their sins, and who were growing in their faith, love, and knowledge of Him.
I have to ask myself, “What is it that really gives me joy?” Is my joy self-centered, or people-centered? Do I take joy in serving others, when I have to do so sacrificially? Do I really rejoice when others prosper in their faith and walk? Or am I jealous of their success? What gives me pleasure tells me a great deal about myself. Paul found pleasure in giving his life in ministering the gospel to others.
Fifth, we can learn a great deal from Paul’s prayers. If I were honest, I would have to confess that my prayers don’t begin to measure up to Paul’s. Paul’s prayers have a fervency, a frequency, and a focus that mine often are lacking.
Paul’s prayers don’t fit my formulas or the formulas of others. You must now listen very carefully to what I am saying because it would be easy to misunderstand what I am saying. I am not saying that we should not pray to praise God for His attributes, or His gracious acts on our behalf. The Psalms are clear on this matter. But sometimes we superimpose a certain pattern or structure on our prayers or the prayers of others, which cannot be found in Paul’s prayers in his epistles. Here, as elsewhere, Paul’s prayers contain praise and petition. The praise, however, is focused on God’s gracious work in the lives of the saints, and the petitions are also directed toward the growth of the saints in their faith.
I am beginning to see the relationship between verses 1 and 2 and verses 3-11. In verse 1, Paul speaks of himself and Timothy as slaves of Jesus Christ. A slave is one who adopts and embraces the agenda of his master. The slave seeks what his master seeks. The slave loves what his master loves. The slave finds joy in what causes his master to rejoice. Paul, the slave, has the same perspective as his master. Put differently, Paul has the same attitude and affection for the church as Christ.
Our Lord deeply cares for His bride, the church (all those who believe in Him for salvation):
22 Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord, 23 because the husband is the head of the wife as also Christ is the head of the church—he himself being the savior of the body. 24 But as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything. 25 Husbands, love your wives just as Christ loved the church and gave himself for her 26 to sanctify her by cleansing her with the washing of the water by the word, 27 so that he may present the church to himself as glorious—not having a stain or wrinkle, or any such blemish, but holy and blameless. 28 In the same way husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. 29 For no one has ever hated his own body but he feeds it and takes care of it, just as Christ also does the church, 30 for we are members of his body. 31 For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and will be joined to his wife, and the two will become one flesh. 32 This mystery is great—but I am actually speaking with reference to Christ and the church. 33 Nevertheless, each one of you must also love his own wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband (Ephesians 5:22-33, emphasis mine).
Paul cared for the church, the bride of Christ, as Christ did. He sacrificed himself for the salvation of men and for their spiritual growth. His desire was to promote purity and holiness, and to present the bride to Christ without fault or flaw. Paul’s deep love and affection for the church was a picture of Christ’s love and affection for His own.
Paul’s prayers do not (at the moment) dwell upon God, but upon the apple of God’s eye. Paul focuses upon that which God cares most about and toward which He is working. Paul’s praises and petitions are thus people-oriented because God’s delight is in saving and sanctifying lost sinners.
As I was drawing near the end of my study on this text, I came across a startling application. If we took this text seriously, it would transform our marriages. Bear with me a moment. Paul’s prayers and affections are an accurate reflection of the heart of God toward these saints. Paul thus prays and labors to bring about that which God desires (and has purposed to accomplish). Paul’s devotion and his sacrificial ministry is a reflection of our Lord’s sacrificial work on the cross of Calvary.
What would happen if we who are husbands embraced this same perspective of our Lord, as Paul did? And what if we looked upon our wives as Paul looked upon this church? What if we prayed for and sought the same things for our wives that Paul sought for the church? That is precisely what Ephesians 5 commands us to do as Christian husbands!
I am told that there are now more divorces in the church than in the world. I don’t know if this is true or not, but I do know that there are all too many divorces in the church. Why is this happening? I think that in general we can say that husbands and wives are not looking upon their marriage and upon their mates as our Lord looks upon His bride. If Paul’s perspective and practice toward the church were to be our perspective and our practice toward our wives, marriages would be transformed. Instead of looking to our mate to “meet our needs,” we would joyfully sacrifice our selfish interests to promote the best interest of our mate.
A masochist is one who endures pain for the pleasure it brings him. A martyr is one who gladly endures pain for the pleasure and benefit it will bring to others. We need more “martyrs.” We need more folks who love their wives as Christ loved His church, and as Paul loved it too.
We live at a time when churches seek to enhance their size (and sometimes their status) by attracting new members. The way some seek to attract new members is by calling attention to all the benefits they offer. The church thus becomes the place where we go “to have our needs met.” The church is thus not a place to serve, but the place to be served. Sacrifice and servanthood are not very popular elements of church life. People don’t come to “take up their cross,” but to be served. Let us see in Paul that frame of mind that was the mind of Christ:
42 Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that those who are recognized as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and those in high positions use their authority over them. 43 But it is not this way among you. Instead whoever wants to be great among you must be your servant, 44 and whoever wants to be first among you must be the slave of all. 45 For even the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:42-45).
Related Topics: Suffering, Trials, Persecution | English | NL | 250aef6e98f0bb7257d83ce1d1979fecd3409c0ef145a36ce35c9bd60a1d3fef |
Spirit Speak // The Spirit Speak Tarot Deck
This product is currently sold out.
The SPIRIT SPEAK Tarot Deck is a very special project for me. I put my whole heart into this work and I am so exited to now offer it to others! I wanted my deck to be easy to use and to read. My intentions with each image was that their meaning was easily accessible. The deck comes with a pamphlet that explains each card. All images were hand drawn by Mary Elizabeth Evans in Oakland, CA, 2014.
About the author/artist:
Mary Elizabeth Evans, born in Nashville Tennessee was influenced early on by her environment. Dark and playful southern folk art and storytelling have become the bones of Mary's work. Folk art, serving more as a craft than "high art" is a reoccurring theme. Raised in the church, from a young age she was attracted to ritual and mysticism. Themes of the occult materialize themselves from a feminist perspective in naive line work that dance and tumble on paper. In her practice she honors craft as a form of expression that is accessible to many and can be used as a tool for self reflection. | English | NL | 839923cb07f14e22aa6c982bc558e6d719b7de87f007f56343c001a99941d51a |
Edward Lear, British poet and painter known for his absurd wit, was born in 1812 and began his career as an artist at age 15. His father, a stockbroker of Danish origins, was sent to debtor's prison when Lear was thirteen and the young Lear was forced to earn a living. Lear quickly gained recognition for his work and in 1832 was hired by the London Zoological Society to execute illustrations of birds. In the same year, the Earl of Denby invited Lear to reside at his estate; Lear ended up staying on until 1836. His first book of poems, A Book of Nonsense (1846) was composed for the grandchildren of the Denby household. Around 1836 Lear decided to devote himself exclusively to landscape painting (although he continued to compose light verse). Between 1837 and 1847 Lear traveled extensively throughout Europe and Asia. After his return to England, Lear's travel journals were published in several volumes as The Illustrated Travels of a Landscape Painter. Popular and respected in his day, Lear's travel books have largely been ignored in the twentieth century. Rather, Lear is remembered for his humorous poems, such as "The Owl and the Pussycat," and as the creator of the form and meter of the modern limerick. Like his younger peer Lewis Carroll, Lear wrote many deeply fantastical poems about imaginary creatures, such as "The Dong with the Luminous Nose." His books of humorous verse also include Nonsense Songs (1871) and Laughable Lyrics (1877). Lear died in 1888 at the age of 76.
Although the subject and form of his works varies greatly, all of Lear's poems can be characterized by his irreverent view of the world; Lear poked fun at everything, including himself in "By Way of a Preface." Many critics view Lear's devotion to the ridiculous as a method for dealing with or undermining the all-pervasive orderliness and industriousness of Victorian society. Regardless of impetus, the humor of Lear's poems has proved irrefutably timeless.
An Online Children’s Book Review Journal
Through The Looking Glass Children’s Book Reviews
Kids book reviews, including book reviews of chapter books, novels, picture books, and non-fiction from famous children’s literature authors. Your review site of books for children.
Welcome to Through the Looking Glass Book Reviews. We have moved! Please visit the new site at www.lookingglassreview.com to enjoy the new website. | English | NL | d1bbc1b49b2ee813ef4b2c878d90b3f9584c24773414bf53f5a939cf8cbfe588 |
The Kingdom of Heaven is in your grasp if you’re ready for it. Are you ready? Do you know the Lord Jesus? Does He know you? He gave us this parable:
“Then the kingdom of heaven shall be likened to ten virgins who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. 2 Now five of them were wise, and five were foolish. 3 Those who were foolish took their lamps and took no oil with them, 4 but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps. 5 But while the bridegroom was delayed, they all slumbered and slept.
6 “And at midnight a cry was heard: ‘Behold, the bridegroom is coming; go out to meet him!’ 7 Then all those virgins arose and trimmed their lamps. 8 And the foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ 9 But the wise answered, saying, ‘No, lest there should not be enough for us and you; but go rather to those who sell, and buy for yourselves.’ 10 And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went in with him to the wedding; and the door was shut.
11 “Afterward the other virgins came also, saying, ‘Lord, Lord, open to us!’ 12 But he answered and said, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, I do not know you.’
13 “Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour in which the Son of Man is coming. (Mat. 25:1-13)
Folks, this is a somber warning to those of us who claim His name. For if we don’t know Him and He doesn’t know us, how is it you are ready to come into His Kingdom. The foolish virgins did not know their bridegroom and weren’t ready for Him. They sought the provisions of those who were ready. The wise virgins knew not to give up what they had received. For the wise virgins had walked with their Bride-groom and He was the one who filled their lamps.
The oil represents the Holy Spirit. But I also believe it represents our walk with Him. For if we do not walk with Him we do not know Him and neither He us. Now He also gave us this Scripture:
35 “Let your waist be girded and your lamps burning; 36 and you yourselves be like men who wait for their master, when he will return from the wedding, that when he comes and knocks they may open to him immediately. 37 Blessed are those servants whom the master, when he comes, will find watching. Assuredly, I say to you that he will gird himself and have them sit down to eat, and will come and serve them. 38 And if he should come in the second watch, or come in the third watch, and find them so, blessed are those servants. 39 But know this, that if the master of the house had known what hour the thief would come, he would have watched and[d] not allowed his house to be broken into. 40 Therefore you also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.”
41 Then Peter said to Him, “Lord, do You speak this parable only to us, or to all people?”
42 And the Lord said, “Who then is that faithful and wise steward, whom his master will make ruler over his household, to give them their portion of food in due season? 43 Blessed is that servant whom his master will find so doing when he comes. 44 Truly, I say to you that he will make him ruler over all that he has. 45 But if that servant says in his heart, ‘My master is delaying his coming,’ and begins to beat the male and female servants, and to eat and drink and be drunk, 46 the master of that servant will come on a day when he is not looking for him, and at an hour when he is not aware, and will cut him in two and appoint him his portion with the unbelievers. 47 And that servant who knew his master’s will, and did not prepare himself or do according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes. 48 But he who did not know, yet committed things deserving of stripes, shall be beaten with few. For everyone to whom much is given, from him much will be required; and to whom much has been committed, of him they will ask the more. (Luke 12:35-48)
Now if we give up what God has given us or don’t seek Him and His filling , it’s just like spitting in His face and trampling His name underfoot. Would you dis-respect your own parents? If not then why would you dis-respect the Lord?
If you desire to come into the kingdom, then I encourage you to lay down your life for Him.
23 Then He said to them all, “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me. 24 For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. 25 For what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and is himself destroyed or lost? 26 For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him the Son of Man will be ashamed when He comes in His own glory, and in His Father’s, and of the holy angels. 27 But I tell you truly, there are some standing here who shall not taste death till they see the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:23-27) | English | NL | 1456d629571891d1a21c2359c0c368f3ecad094ae925abaab8b1b2c98b7541d2 |
Parts I, III and IV – Subject Private
I am nobody’s child. That makes me no one. That makes me feel like a nothing. If I am a nothing, I can do anything without consequence. I have been fucked by life, therefore, fuck you too.
I was no one to love. I was a boy. I was six. I can see me in my mind’s eye. He’s there. He still has hair. A big bushy head of hair, laughing and smiling and running and playing. He was a child. His heart was open for love for he thought he was lovable. Then at six, his mother fucking left him. She just left. Him, me, I. She took me and my two younger sisters to her husband’s house – my missing shit father’s parents’ house and left us there. She was too self-interested to take care of me, the oldest, at 6 and me two sisters, each two years apart from me.
I concluded henceforth, I am nothing.
My grandmother and grandfather loved and loves me fiercely. I still take care of my grandmother and grandfather, both in their 90’s with diligence, with love, with compassion and gratitude. They loved a nothing, an unlovable little Spanish boy. I am Puerto Rican and Italian. I look more Puerto Rican. That makes me more of a nothing because society will automatically judge me by the tint in my skin. Fuck those nothing bigots.
Grandma and Grandpa raised us well. I forgot for a long time that I was nothing. The big zero fell off the top of my head, and I didn’t miss it. Bye stupid zero. I’m not a nothing. I excelled in school. I was moved into high honors in elementary school. I flew like an eagle. I finally had wings. A nothing cannot fly; I discovered I had wings.
She came back when I was mid-flight; while I was soaring, wings spread…. she walked in the door of my grandparents’ house and stated that she wanted to take her children back and try to parent them. My grandmother was afraid, but my grandmother is traditional; she felt that a mother has a right to her children, and despite her better judgment, Grandma let my mother take the three of us to live with “Mother” several blocks away. My sisters and I continued to go to the same schools.
A fucking eagle named “Mother’s Shit” came in like an arrow on fire and shot the me who was an eagle down to the ground. I became a Phoenix. I rose from the ashes of my former self…my former eagle, and the eagle was gone. Mother killed the eagle. Mother did not have the good sense to even know that I was an eagle or that she had just killed it but she sure did. My sisters were too self-involved as girly girls to see me flying above so when I crashed, they did not notice. I crashed, I burned and rose from the ashes a different person.
A Phoenix I was…. yet there was a shadow over the phoenix calling to me, the Phoenix…. hey, hey you…. I remember you…. you are the nothing. Fuck you. I am not a nothing. Now I am strong. I was an eagle. Now I know. Go away. I am not a nothing. The shadow continued to whisper, do as you like, I will stay with you and remind you, you are a nothing.
Phoenix…. glorious bird rising from the ashes of death…brightly colored feathers and tremendous. I was intent on being tremendous. However, Mother’s Shit did not permit me to adequately study as I had before…no, I could no longer be an eagle but solely be a colorful, tremendous Phoenix…instead, I became the biggest, baddest motherfucker on the block. I became the monster. Monsters are safe. No one will hurt or damage a monster. Not even a Mother’s Shit will damage a monster. Not even a shadow’s fucking whisper will damage a monster. And the shadow still caught me in twilight sleep and whispered, you are a nothing.
We all have a side that no one knows. He had a side that only he knew but didn’t like to look at though he puffed out his silverback gorilla chest inwardly at his power. He had overcome. So he told himself.
She loved him on and off. He provided well. Then the children came. He became different. He wanted an intact family more than ever.
She grew ever more distant while his children drew close to each of them. She loved her children. What happened that she stopped loving him.
He lost his misery in the joy of his children until they went to school. Then the voices in his head came back … and her stares returned. Get out. We don’t want you. Voices over and over. Throbbing and pounding. Pounding pounding…oh, what?
“Daddy, can you take me to school”
She knows that I love her but she refuses to look at it; my love. She refuses to let my love in the room. She keeps herself in a bubble, an invisible bubble so my love cannot touch her. She hates that I have love. She knows I love our children but she refuses to look at it. She refuses to acknowledge that I am human, that I am capable of love, that perhaps even that I am lovable; after all, my children love me. She cannot look at these things. If she acknowledges that I have love for her and my girls, she is by force of nature required to admit, at least to herself, that it is she that is without love. Instead, she prefers to live in her lie.
But her lie is not her own. Her lie becomes our life. Her lie becomes the grey mist growing ever darker in our home like smoke from burnt food causing the air to be rancid and burning my throat, tearing up my eyes, making me lose my step…. I cannot see. The hostility becomes a palpable, tangible thing that begins to grow outside of the house and encompass the outside of the house. The dark thing soon travels with us…no, with her, everywhere she goes.
I want her to love me but I have grown hostile and angry at the pain she knows she has caused me. Perhaps if she were not aware that she was causing me such pain I could forgive and heal but she glares, she looks at me from the corner of her eye and the look speaks volumes. Her eyes shoot daggers at me as I sit with my daughter watching television; I sit quietly, and I am angry that I am a victim because she has hit me with her hostility while I was not aware sitting peacefully in family warmth. And so, I must escape. I know, this is her wish. I desire not to give her her wish. I desire to survive.
Bitch, why can’t you love me.
Bitch, why can’t you explain.
Bitch, you know I don’t understand. You know I love you. You know what you are doing. You know you are a bitch, but you don’t care. Yet still, I love you. Yet still, I hear it; you have to leave.
And I hear her; leave. And I hear her; stay and let me make you miserable. And I hear it all. And the voices don’t shut up. And I’m never alone from the voices. I’m just alone. Just me and the fucking voices. | English | NL | 94533899ca10010c830fea107bd6091c69509500991c0e5da471f197a3ec74b4 |
Dr. Barbara Clucas is an Urban Ecologist at Humboldt State University and an alum of UC Davis Animal Behavior graduate group. Last spring, she returned to UCD to give a talk about her recent work examining human-avian interactions in Seattle, Washington and Berlin, Germany. While she was here, she sat down to chat about her life and work with Ethogram Editor Katrina Brock.
The Ethogram: Tell us about a memorable experience from your fieldwork.
Barbara Clucas: During my Ph.D. work, I was studying ground squirrels. One time, there was a dead squirrel that had been flattened by a a car. Another squirrel tried to take the dead squirrel back to its burrow to eat it. It charged over, but it couldn’t fit the dead one into its burrow because it was pancaked flat. It tried for around 20 minutes, pulling and tugging. It never successfully got the dead squirrel to fit in.
Squirrels are known to be cannibalistic. Non-lactating females will eat the young of other squirrels. This is thought to be for nutrition, not for the purpose of killing other individuals.
TE: Can you tell us about some common misconception people have about the animals that you study?
BC: I have worked with species that many people hate: rattlesnakes, ground squirrels, and crows. Most people don’t know that squirrels are immune to rattlesnake venom. They also don’t know about the amazing anti-predator behaviors that squirrels have.
When it comes to crows, most people don’t understand the complex social lives that crows have and how similar they are to humans, both in their level of intelligence and in their social bonds. Often when people learn this, they think about crows differently.
TE: What got you interested in studying animals in the first place?
BC: I always loved nature. My parents didn’t have a strong interest in animals or the environment. But when I was a child, my mom would send me to play outside and I would spend a lot of time in the creek bed behind my house searching for frogs and different types of animals. I think that’s probably where my love for nature came from. I think I always felt strongly about appreciating nature for its intrinsic value.
At first, I didn’t really know what I could do with that interest. In undergrad I started working for a professor who was doing a project on communication in Carolina Chickadees. He threw me into a project and I didn’t look back. It was really fascinating to me that I could take my passion about studying animal behavior and actually do that for a living. It was really awesome.
TE: What advice would you have to someone who is just discovering ecology as a career option and trying to decide whether or not to pursue it?
BC: To study ecology and animal behavior at the graduate level, you really have to be motivated and persistent. Not everyone with a passion for wildlife needs to get a graduate degree. There are a lot of ways that you can channel that through hobbies, birding, or other ways. Studying animal behavior is not a route that’s going to make you money, it has to be a passion that can get you through the challenges of research and academia.
TE: Tell us a little bit about your current field of study, urban ecology.
BC: Urban ecology focuses on understanding the role that humans have in urban ecosystems. We work to integrate the natural side of things with the social side of things.
TE: What is the connection between urban ecology and conservation?
BC: It’s important to understand the connections between people and their ecosystem. For example, there is a lot of research showing that people that don’t have an early experience or an everyday experience with nature are less likely to vote in ways that are positive for conservation and less likely to believe that conservation is important. I think that part of my work is to instill the idea that we need to have some nature in urban areas if we want to have a voting public that is concerned about conservation issues.
TE: How do the challenges of working with animals compare to the challenges of working with people?
BC: I went into this field interested in animals and animal behavior. I didn’t start to think about human behavior until more recently. It definitely was a challenge. I was nervous about doing human surveys. I’m an outgoing person and I like to talk, but it was interesting going door-to-door and talking to people. After the first week, I came to appreciate hearing so different prospectives about animals. I think as ecologists and animal behaviorists, we sometimes become intrenched in our own prospectives, and we forget that most other people have very different prospectives about nature or animals. Hearing all these different stories and talking to hundreds of people about what they think about birds was interesting and it made me more aware that the large majority of the population think about these things so differently than we do. So to be able to understand how we can promote conservation and sound management strategies, you really have to have that understanding of where different people are coming from to be successful.
TE: What were some of the things that your survey respondents said that surprised you?
BC: I was surprised how readily some people would admit to harming birds. Under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, you’re not allowed to harm songbirds, but some people would tell me “Oh, yeah, I shoot them all the time.” It’s also illegal to move nests. Obviously, I wasn’t turning these people in, but I was surprised that they were so open. They probably didn’t know that it was illegal.
I was also surprised by the level of connection that some people have with birds. Even though I love animals, I don’t feed birds and or interact with them at that level. I met people that spend thousands of dollars per year buying every type of bird food imaginable. I met people who have very close connections to crows in particular where they put particular feeders out for individual birds. One woman told me that she believed that she had the daughter and granddaughter of one particular crow that she had been feeding for years. Many people have really strong connections with birds that I though people only had with domesticated pets, not with wild animals. It was fascinating. | English | NL | 279398811146e27d051387e325a259cd594f5778a8d775ccf2b1194895cfefe2 |
Introducing Romans - Part 1: An Independent Church
June 29 is the feast day of Saint Peter and
The Feast of St Peter and
is an important reminder that Christianity isn’t simply about Paul. (In the light of Anonymous' comment below, I think this should read: the spread of Christianity isn't simply about Paul!) There were other important Christian leaders and teachers, not least Saint Peter. Paul was, of course, hugely important, but it is possible to overdo it. In both non-Christian and Christian circles, Paul is often seen as having effectively created what we now know as Christianity. St Paul
For some, this is a negative thing: Jesus preached the pure Gospel and Paul came along and changed it, making it into a religion to rival those of the pagans. For others, it is a positive thing: Paul is seen as having provided the much needed theological and intellectual basis for the new movement.
The truth is, as Paul himself acknowledges, that Paul received a great deal from those who were Christians before him. Much early Christian theology was in place before Paul became a Christian. The reason that the picture of Christian origins is distorted is because much of the New Testament was written by Paul and the only early history of the Church, the Book of Acts, focuses on the mission and ministry of Paul.
It doesn’t do any harm, then, to remind ourselves that there were important centres of Christianity that neither Paul nor for that matter Peter founded.
, and Egypt in particular, was an important centre and there is certainly no evidence that either Peter or Paul went there, although our Lord did, of course, albeit as a baby! Alexandria itself is another example. Rome
Both Peter and Paul are linked with
. Peter is believed by Roman Catholic Christians to have been the first Bishop of Rome and by some to have founded the Church there. While it is probable that both Peter and Paul died in Rome, they didn’t found the Church there. The Church was already in existence in Rome before either of them went there. So how did it come to be in existence? Rome
We are told that on the Day of Pentecost that there were in
‘visitors from Jerusalem , both Jews and proselytes’ (Acts ). They were amongst those who heard the disciples speaking in ‘other languages as the Spirit gave them utterance’. It is likely that some of these became believers and took the Christian Gospel back to Rome where it seems to have thrived. Rome
Despite its independent origins as a Church,
was to become closely associated with both apostles. Apart from Rome being the place where the two apostles were martyred under Nero’s persecution of the Church, St Peter was claimed as its first Bishop, and it was to give its name to the greatest piece of Christian writing in the history of the Church: Paul’s letter to the Romans. In this letter, Paul, undoubtedly, does show his theological genius and the letter has been of phenomenal influence on people who were themselves great theologians of the Church: Augustine in the fifth century; Luther, in the sixteenth; and Barth in the twentieth. These and many more like them were all indebted to it. There have been many, many books and commentaries written on it. It is certainly the one I personally have the most books and commentaries on. Rome
Even though it has been so closely studied, Paul’s letter to the Romans still manages to challenge and perplex. Scholars argue over the meaning of almost every verse, often reaching dramatically different conclusions. In the next post, we will begin by asking whether there is anything we can be certain of. | English | NL | f63d7433e497c673d0baea0cab3dbb673d8a4b52582f67f948e618bcf352e2b3 |
Neville Fleetwood graduated from Huddersfield School of Art in the 1950s. He went on to work as a graphic artist before succesfully running his own business for thirty years.
He retired early to paint full time. He exhibited extensively in London and the south of England, notably at The New English Art Club. The Royal Institute of Painters in Oil awarded him the President’s prize in 1997.
Neville’s vibrant depiction of his surrounding countryside, and vivid abstract still life paintings, have won him a keen London following.
He was made a member of the ROI in 2000.
Neville’s landscapes and coastal scenes are predominantly of the Yorkshire countryside. His still life paintings are exaggerated, both in colour and in the shapes and sizes of the objects being painted. For him, the pleasure of painting is in applying paint thickly in bright colours using brush and palette knife.
His paintings demonstrate a strong and bold use of colour. Their vibrancy is developed by applying layer upon layer. He is particularly well known for his still life paintings, where he carefully positions everyday objects. His landscapes are full of atmosphere, with patchwork fields arranged into vivid abstract designs.
His paintings have created an impressive following and he has won many major awards. | English | NL | d2413a3b8cd57454d84fecc8e9c90b2683e031a882fbc62c8e7c25dc73165251 |
If the temperament is hidden in the heart, time will never fail.
At the beginning of 19, I went out to work and interviewed a state-owned enterprise. I was lucky to pass it. I was very happy. I didn't even think that I met an elder sister. She interpreted the words "if there is a temperament in mind and time is from unbeaten beauty". We worked together in a class, and our sister was a teacher in our class. After a few days, we got along very well.
The branches are luxuriant and gentle. The mountains and forests are companionship, and the laurel is adjacent. The waves are turbulent, and the trees are clear.
The hands are soft and tender. The collar is white, and the tooth is like a rhinoceros. The first is the head, the other is the smiling face.
The angel who is lost in the dust has a temperament that does not belong to the world. | English | NL | cba891f3eb671e84aab8e4ac16192289f1293309fdd636264aee7aa65d918cb7 |
Ole Paddy O’Dea lived by the bay
Of the beautiful Emerald Isle.
Fishermen say, there are mermaids at play,
And he had been searching awhile.
Peter O’toole knew of a pool
Where the finned ladies were known to swim.
The very thought of it, made Paddy drool,
But Peter just wouldn’t show him.
So Paddy thought, then went out and bought
Grumpy Peter a barrel of rum
Soon the route to that pool, Paddy was taught
When Paddy made Peter his chum.
Say what you may of Paddy O’Dea
After he got wind in his sails.
But it may explain why they look that way,
Since all of his children have scales. | English | NL | 54eea20e8ec51ba4c0295505a6b2be3406956aac89259dc18b292a2d4dc1d598 |
Liz Lochhead's Good Things is a bittersweet romantic comedy about finding love later in life. It was conceived by Lochhead as a loosely thematic sequel to her earlier play Perfect Days (Traverse Theatre, 1998). Good Things was first performed by Borderline Theatre Company, in association with the Byre Theatre, St Andrews and Perth Theatre, at the Tron Theatre, Glasgow on 16 September 2004, prior to an extensive national tour.
The play is set in a charity shop where Susan – newly single and approaching fifty – works as a volunteer. She also has to cope with a father in his second childhood, a daughter in the throes of aggravated adolescence, a blind-date stalker and an ex who, unfortunately, still has the power to wound. So when David comes in to drop off a bag of his late wife’s possessions, Susan barely has time to notice him or how he keeps coming back. The play is written to be performed by two male and two female performers, with one male actor playing all the male parts except for David, and one female actor playing all the female roles except for Susan.
In her Foreword to Liz Lochhead: Five Plays (Nick Hern Books, 2012), Lochhead writes that Perfect Days and Good Things were 'conceived as part one and part two of a loose trilogy of popular comedies, romantic comedies, about the lives of modern women as they approached what the women’s mags would have us regard as big milestones – fear of forty, Perfect Days, and fear of fifty, Good Things.'
Lochhead also explain that 'The extensive doubling, originally for reasons of economy, done by two of the actors, which means that they are literally never off the stage except for the most bravura of quick changes, well, this doubling was for me the point of it, the structural fun in the writing of it.'
The Borderline Theatre Company production was directed by Maureen Beattie and designed by Finlay McLay. It was performed by Annette Staines, Vincent Friell, Molly Innes and Kenneth Bryans. | English | NL | 245eb484966b87a8fae02fc854b1040036c0c04d82adcde7699f36fabce3fd60 |
Introduction to George Jonkers to run a workshop on Permaculture.
George introduced Permaculture as a farming system adapted to a garden. He outlined his workshop plan which was to divide the audience into 10 groups with different scenarios. These were explained in the information on the tables. Also to be found was the Principles of Permaculture, and paper to design the garden outlined in the scenario.
The main focus on the evening was the group session and George walked around advising groups. The room had a working buzz of noise.
To finish George hoped we had enjoyed the exercise and regretted he did not have sufficient time to go through the Principles more closely as there was a wide range of experience amongst the group. He collected the designs from the groups and it is hoped he might feedback what he thought of these at a future date. Each participant was given a certificate of attendance. | English | NL | 42c460f250a4d93d5878697598c131b4eb4cb841129e1a68bb7b4bbaaeedaa9d |
The Triumphal Entry and the Cleansing of the Temple
The Triumphal Entry and the Donkey King of Israel
When Christ was about to enter Jerusalem, he insisted to ride on a colt that had never been ridden before, most likely in an attempt to fulfil yet another prophecy, that the Messiah would come to his people “lowly, and riding upon an ass, even upon a colt the foal of an ass” (Zechariah 9:9). From a strange narrative in The Acts of Saint Thomas in India it would appear that the colt was not aware of just Who was on his back and unceremoniously threw him off. In the narrative the apostle Thomas encounters a talkative colt, who informs him that he was a descendant of the colt on which the Lord had entered Jerusalem and subsequently offered him (Thomas) a ride into town. Though unwilling at first, Thomas eventually agreed to participate in this apparent re-enactment of the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem. When they arrived at the city gates, he [Thomas] ‘threw himself off him [the colt]’ and commanded the colt to proceed on his own. The colt immediately fell down before him and died, and all those who saw it were terrified.
In Barbelo I argue that Christ had adopted the alias Paul of Tarsus sometime after his resurrection, and Paul is known to have fallen to the ground and having been blinded for three days when he supposedly met Christ. The Conversion of Saint Paul paints a vivid picture of the event,
“That is of Paul in whom the conversion was made.… that he was beaten to the earth, he was blind and fasted three days, and was smitten down to the ground for to be raised.…And Saint Austin saith that he was smitten down for to be blind, for to be changed”
Furthermore, according to Arab tradition Paul had a horse called Eagle which he hocked and then repented, suggesting that he had fallen from a lame animal. So, Christ had indeed been thrown off the colt. The mention of the bystanders in Thomas’ encounter with the talkative colt being ‘terrified’ matches Paul’s companions being ‘speechless.’ One can hardly imagine the anxiety and embarrassment of Christ’s followers when, instead of hailing him as the king of the Jews as he entered Jerusalem, they found themselves staring at their master lying unconscious on the ground.
That Thomas ‘threw himself off the colt’ must have been the feeble excuse Christ’s followers used to explain why he had been thrown off the donkey, suffering severe concussion and temporary blindness, in response to the public ridicule Christ suffered afterwards. For instance, Christ is portrayed as a crucified donkey in the so-called Alexamenos Grafitto, which is inscribed with the words ‘Alexamenos worships god’. A caricature of Christ as a donkey had likewise appeared in the city of Carthage, inscribed with the words ‘The God of the Christians, born of an ass. He had the ears of an ass, was hoofed in one foot, carried a book, and wore a toga’.
The Raid on the Temple
There can be no doubt that when Christ finally awoke and realised that he had become the laughing stock of Israel, he would have been filled with a great, great anger, which resulted in the storming of the Temple:
- The Toledot Yeshu relates that Christ had entered the temple with 310 of his followers, hardly the image of a lone Jesus kicking over tables as portrayed in the New Testament. These men would have included Simon Peter and his dagger-men (assassins), also known as Simon bar Gioras’ sicarii.
- When Paul (Christ) was seized by the crowd at the temple decades later, he was accused of having brought Greeks into the temple area and having defiled ‘this holy place.’
- Epiphanius claims that James wore the breastplate of the high priest and the high priestly diadem on his head and had actually entered the Holy of Holies. Eusebius likewise records that John the Beloved had become a sacrificing priest who wore the mitre, which was the headdress of the high priest. This suggests that Christ and his disciples had robbed these holy items from the Temple.
Therefore, there can be little doubt that Christ had defiled the Temple by robbing it of its treasures and holy objects, including the sacred breastplate and diadem, and that he had ordered his followers to enter every chamber of the temple in search of booty. Perhaps the most telling piece of evidence of the raid on the Temple is its curtain, which was supposedly torn in two by divine action, from top to bottom, when Christ died on the cross. As related in The Infancy Gospel of James, the young Mary had been tasked with weaving the purple part of the Temple curtain and Christ would no doubt have ripped that part off the curtain during the raid.
- Hits: 3148 | English | NL | 4f90cfa058b1d4ccb9df17d6155fb7c221d1445c661e3fbdc2060380fdea4b28 |
Brian was born in April of 1993 in Orange, CA, USA. He grew up as an only child with a thriving imagination, playing elaborate games of fiction and fairytales. Now 19, Brian works as a freelance photographer, specializing in fashion and fine art photography. He began taking photographs at the age of sixteen, and as he experimented with self portraiture and surrealism, his love of photography blossomed as he taught himself how to create freely. Brian keeps his passion of all things beautiful and strange ever present in his work, creating surreal, conceptual images that transport the viewer to new worlds. Brian is currently living and working in the Los Angeles area, and is available for commissioned work internationally. | English | NL | 2da9da787d7fb7d1c2ec3eec467f99bb2c4193241803213fe2132ce8b8200c59 |
Our school launched a 1:1 laptop initiative last year, so we are in year two of having every student have the choice to have a laptop. In our district, you hear a lot about laptop usage. My response to all of the teachers that morning was that not having laptops out was fine we would just be moving between rooms getting pictures of what was happening in the moment. To be honest, the last thing I wanted was to bring the photographer into rooms where students were just using computers. I dream of the day that the focus is not on the device but on the learning and that the device is just somewhere in the room to give the students access to information that they need to move through their learning or a means to create a product to show what they have learned. What did we see that day as we moved through the campus? We saw students molding clay into busts, we saw students harvesting grass samples on a roof and measuring growth, we saw some students sitting and taking notes, we saw other students lighting heat sources to begin experiments, and we saw students spread out sitting in stairways practicing their guitars.
The activities of the morning left me to reflect on the pressure that exists on teachers today to integrate and use technology. Admittedly, I am one of those people who when given a task immediately thinks about how can I make the task easier or faster with technology. I am just wired that way. As the 1:1 initiative was launched on our campus last year leadership embraced it as a tool and did not in any way issue broad expectations of what it should look like within every classroom. My perception has always been that there is room for growth and integration and that teachers will begin to substitute tech tools in place of traditional methods out of convenience and improved functionality and then move towards redesigning where their students can actually go and eventually having their students create products and complete tasks that were inconceivable in traditional classrooms. I believe many teachers feel that they should be there now and struggle with knowing it is possible but do not have the time, guidance and security net they need for failure to have their classrooms get to this point. The reality is that I could have walked back into any of those learning environments on another day and seen technology in use in ways that show how far we have moved forward in a year. I realized that morning that the expectation that devices be out and present has created an unseen additional pressure for classroom teachers. | English | NL | ff14ed75dabcaa938eea099172366ab6ae958758ad34d36d483f4aa107432083 |
The world can be very, very complex. Sunday night after Sunday night as we gather, we hear people talk about, "I tried this, I tried that, I tried to make sense out of this, make sense out of that," all the way from devout religion to no religion, all the way from believing in God in some unique and personal way to doubting that He even exists, trying this and that approach to truth, changing world views periodically, trying to sort it all out, trying to come up with some kind of amalgam of stuff that makes sense and satisfies a nagging anxiety of the human mind, trying to sort out the meaning of life. It's a complex world with almost uncountable options. And it does seem maybe bizarre, maybe a little strange, if not simplistic, to say that Jesus Christ is the answer and He alone and He is the complete answer and there isn't anything else. Is it really that clear? Is it really that simple? Is it really that straightforward?
Well that's exactly what the Bible says and that's exactly what Jesus claimed. I just read a survey that said the vast majority of people in America believe Jesus actually was God, more than three fourths of them. Well if they believe He was God, then they probably ought to take what He says as true. And what He said above all other things is that He's the only Savior. He is the answer and the only answer to the longing of every human heart. The Bible simply says, "In Him are all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." It's all summed up in Him. That comes out of Colossians chapter 2. If you have your Bible there, or there's one handy in the pew, turn to the New Testament and maybe toward the back part, a little pass half way, there's a book called Colossians and in the second chapter of that book is this amazing statement concerning Christ, "In Him are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." That is a statement that is really bold. In fact, you might say in today's vernacular, that's over the top. Come on, all wisdom, all knowledge, all that wisdom and knowledge has to offer is found in Jesus Christ?
You say, "Well, are we really supposed to accept that? Isn't that just a religious viewpoint?" No, that's an authoritative statement in Scripture, that's in verse 3 of Colossians 2. And verse 4 says, "I say this in order that no one may delude you with a persuasive argument." Don't let anybody deceive you by trying to convince you that that is in fact not true. It is in Christ that all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are found. Everything that has value is summed up in Him, everything that has to do with meaning in this life and the life to come, everything related to life and death and eternity. And as we heard tonight again, everything related to joy and peace and fulfillment and putting your soul at rest, everything is found in Him.
The writer of Hebrews in the New Testament says that, "He made perfect forever those who are set apart to Him." In the tenth verse of Colossians 2 it is said another way, "In Him you have been made complete." It's all wrapped up in Him.
I suppose as a student in college I was fascinated by a lot of things. I have a very inquisitive mind. It's a good thing because I have to keep searching up new material to give to you every week year after year, and it suits me find. But when I was in college I was curious about a lot of things and one of the things that I was very curious about was the development of human philosophy, or human thought apart from the Bible and apart from God. And so I decided that I would take courses in advance philosophy.
Now having been raised by a pastor and having been exposed to the Bible growing up, I was a firm believer in the Bible by the time I got to college. In fact, my major was biblical studies and my minor, had a double minor in Greek and history, always fascinated by history. But I just had this particular interest in philosophy. And so I basically begged the school to allow me to take advance European philosophy without any appropriate under class man preparation, just let me leap frog, you know, the 101's and the 201's and get to the advance European philosophy...and I did. There were only two of is in the class...just two. And nobody could figure out why we're taking it and the other guy in the class named Fred was dyslexic. This is true. It's tough enough to sort through philosophy if you can read, but if you have a dyslexia problem, it is bizarre. I'll never forget that because this is an aside. Fred said to me one day because he liked me, we became friends in that class, he said, "You ought to run for student body office." I said, "I can't do that. I don't want to be an officer in the Student Body." You know, I was playing football and other sports and I was teaching a Bible study at my church and I had a full life and I said, "I don't want to...I don't want to do that."
Well, there was one day when the whole thing happened in our campus and on one day the campus was blitzed with signs and speeches and they voted, the kids voted at the end of that day for whoever was going to be Student Body officers. I came that morning to school only to see my name plastered all over the campus on signs. "MacArthur for Vice President." He had decided I could probably make it as Vice President. And the bizarre part is every sign had my name spelled a different way and it was so funny that I won in a landslide and I was stuck having to do that job for the rest of the year. So that was my buddy Fred in philosophy class. I think it was the only election like it in history. And everybody thought that we did it on purpose, just to draw attention.
But I took that philosophy class and I dug deeply into the foundations of western philosophy in particular and the flow of western philosophy. It was very helpful to me to sort of be able to sort that out. Later on I became even more fascinated by it. Read a very important book in philosophy written by a guy that I think is the most insightful and effective and impactful student of philosophy in its historical setting, a man by the name of Paul Johnson who wrote a book called The Intellectuals. And in that book I looked not only deeply into the thinking of the people who were the architects of western theology but even more deeply into the life of these people and found them, without exception, to be base and immoral to the core and coming up with a kind of philosophy that accommodated their own personal immorality. So human philosophy from my vantage point didn't offer anything that moved me one inch from my biblical convictions. In fact, everything it had to offer only solidified me in those convictions. And I am very content to say that all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, all that really matters, all that has value, all that you would call a treasure is truly found in Christ. And I found that to be true long ago, and it was tested during those days of my education and here I am decades later telling you that it is still absolutely and unequivocally my conviction that I have found completeness in Christ.
The Apostle Paul writing in the book of Ephesians put it another way. He said, "You are blessed with all spiritual blessings in the heavenlies," that is that come from God, "in Christ." You have a lot of superlatives when you talk about what comes in Christ. The Apostle Paul again in Philippians chapter 3, and by the way, he was an educated man. Not only was he educated in Jewish theology, but he was educated in philosophy as well. And he says this in Philippians 3, "I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus, my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things and count them but rubbish." And he used a very gross word, one of the most gross words in the Greek language to describe all human knowledge and all false religion. He had in school and educated not only in Judaism as a Pharisee, he was...he was educated to the max in Judaism but he was also educated in the Gentile world where he had been raised. And he understood it all and he said it was all rubbish. Everything he ever knew could be set aside and counted loss compared to Christ. These are really monumental statements.
What the Christian gospel is, is simply this, all the answers you need for time and eternity are in Christ. All the answers for your soul, all the answers for your sin, all the answers for your hope for the life to come, they're all in Christ and only in Christ. There is no other authority in the Bible, there is no other Savior than Jesus Christ and you will find everything you could ever desire or need in Him. That's why, again going back to Colossians 2 and verse 10, "In Him you have been made complete." You have been made complete.
We often think today that Christ is a part of our lives. He's maybe an important part but not all. We need Christ plus philosophy...we need Christ plus psychology...we need Christ plus ritual...Christ plus ceremony...Christ plus some miraculous experience or Christ plus some mystical intuition...or Christ plus some bodily self-denial or immolation. We need to do something to hurt ourselves in order to gain merit with God, or we need to do something to transcend this world to have some kind of mystical experience to really know God, or something like that. Or somehow we need to have an angelic visitation, or somehow we need to live a life of conformity to certain ceremony and certain ritual. But the Bible says it's all in Christ and it's all in knowing Christ.
This whole epistle, really, focuses on Him because if you go back to chapter 1 verse 13 it says, "He delivered us from the domain of darkness," that is, God did, "and transferred us into the Kingdom of His beloved Son." Everybody lives in a kingdom. Everybody has a king. There are two possible kingdoms, two possible kings. You can live under king Satan, or King God. You can live in the kingdom of darkness, or you can live in the Kingdom of light. You can live in the kingdom of evil, or the kingdom of righteousness. God by His grace delivers us from the kingdom of darkness, the domain of darkness into the kingdom of His beloved Son. And when you come into the knowledge of Christ and He becomes your King, that's how you enter His Kingdom and immediately the Bible says you have redemption, you are bought back from judgment. You are bought back from punishment. You are bought back from hell because Christ paid the price. You have the forgiveness of sins, all the sins you have ever or would ever commit are forgiven because their penalty was paid by the death of Christ. Everything comes down to Christ, everything. It was through Him that sinners are reconciled to God. It was through Him that we are transformed and converted and regenerated and born again. Everything comes through Him.
Now let's look at chapter 2 for a minute, and I just want to show you a few things that Paul directly speaks to, the tend to clutter this simplicity in Christ. Paul wrote, you remember, to the Corinthians and He said, "I'm worried about you. I...I'm very concerned about you," because false teachers were coming in and confusing them. And he says this, 2 Corinthians 11:3, "I'm afraid that in the same way that the serpent in the garden deceived Eve by his cleverness, your minds should be led astray from the simplicity and purity that belongs to Christ." We're talking about something that is pure and simple, Christ is everything. And apart from Him there are no answers either for time or eternity.
There are four points that Paul wants to make in chapter 2 of Colossians that assault the simplicity of Christ and the sufficiency of Christ. Four of them, philosophy, legalism, mysticism and asceticism...and we'll talk about what those mean.
Let's talk first about philosophy. Verse 8, Colossians 2, in this context of saying that in Christ are all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge, that you're complete in Him, that He is the one who is the image of the invisible God, as chapter 1 verse 15 says, He is the one by whom all things were created, He is the one who is the supreme authority, He is the one who is before all things and holds all things together. He is the one in whom all the fullness of the Father dwells, He is the one and He alone who reconciles all things to Himself, who made peace by the blood of His cross, He is the everything. In response to that Paul says in verse 8, "See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception according to the tradition of men, according to the elementary principles of the world rather than according to Christ." Don't let anybody distract you from Christ. Don't let anybody take you captive and pull you away from the single commitment to Christ.
Verse 9, "For in Him all the fullness of deity dwells in bodily form and in Him you've been made complete." This refers to whatever systems men invent, whatever ideologies, philosophies, psychologies, theories, religions. And they're innumerable, aren't they? Cults and isms and chisms abound all over everywhere. Everybody's got his own little hip-pocket idea of God and truth and Christ and how the Bible fits in, etc., etc., etc. Philosophers, authors, playwrights, novelists, academicians, movie producers, talk show hosts, psychologists, sociologists, religious leaders ad infinitum, ad nauseum have their opinions about everything. There is this endless verbosity, isn't there, streaming across our radios and our screens and in the literature that we read from books all the way to newspapers and everybody has his view of life and everybody has his view of morality. And no matter what view you espouse and you put it in the column in the newspaper, there's going to be a stack of letters to the editor and you're going to have at least 15 people spinning their own thing in response to yours. No wonder people find it difficult to know where to land, to know what to believe in a world with so many opinions. And, of course, we now live in a post-modern world which means that there really is no truth, no true truth, no absolute truth. Everybody comes up with his own idea of what truth is and you've got your truth and you've got your truth...that's great, I'm so glad you have your truth and I'm so glad I have my truth. And it's just everywhere. And so, Paul says, "Look, see to it that no one takes you captive.
It's a rare word, sulagogeo, it means to carry you off like plunder. Sulais the word booty, treasure; ogois to carry away, don't let anybody haul you off, take you captive. It was used in later Greek writings, it's rare around the biblical times, but it was used in later Greek writings to refer to kidnaping, or plundering a house, or seducing a maid, or taking people captive in a war. Don't let anybody kidnap your mind, kidnap your soul, seduce or plunder you by philosophy, the study of wisdom, human reason. Don't let anybody move you away from Christ by viewpoints, world views, values, morality, principles that come from human wisdom. He says this philosophy is empty deception. You could read it this way, "See to it that no one seduces you, plunders you, robs your soul through human wisdom, even empty deceit." Philosophy is empty deceit. It is an empty lie. It is a delusion because it sounds good, it attracts the mind, it seduces the mind, it has certain properties of rationality, but it has no spiritual value at all. Why? Because verse 8 says it is according to the tradition of men. It's human. If you want to know divine truth, if you want to know supernatural truth, don't go to a human source. It's that simple. Because all you're going to get out of a human source is human wisdom. And human wisdom does not transcend time and space. It is just inadequate human thinking and, 1 Corinthians 2:14 says, the natural man understands not the things of God. How can he know them? They're spiritual. They're not in his dimensions.
It's amazing how often people will say, "Well, I think this about God, and I think that about God." Well just why would I believe what you think about God is authoritative? How did you, by the way, get out of your time/space environment to say that about God and think that you actually knew the truth? We're talking about transcendent God, we're talking about a God who is outside our world. I'm going to have to have information about God that He Himself has delivered. We live in a box, time/space box. We bang around in here and we draw all kinds of conclusions. But nobody ever gets out and God is on the outside. The only way we will ever know God is not that some of us can crawl through a hole somewhere and say, "Oh, you know, there He is," it's not going to happen. The only way we could ever know is if God invaded the box from the outside, and He did. And He gave us a revelation in Scripture, and then He gave us a revelation in human flesh, Jesus Christ. And that's God bursting into our world.
What are you going to find out of philosophy? I've often said this about philosophy, philosophy is the search for the truth but you never find it. If they ever found it, class would be over. It would be over. So you get a degree for looking. It's inadequate. You can't get there from here. It is...he says further... "According to the elementary principles of the world." It's...it's earthbound. It's just this system talking to itself. It's not transcendent. It's not from the outside. Rudiments means ABCs, it's baby talk. It's amazing to think about that. But you talk about a philosopher and usually you're talking about the elite minds of any age, or any society, those who are the philosophers are usually considered to be the great brain trust, you know, the people who are off the chart on the IQ test, the geniuses who think in levels of complexity that stagger most of us. But the truth is, no matter how intelligent they are, no matter how capable they are of processing information and retaining it in their heads and sorting it through and drawing conclusions, they may stagger us with that, they're still in the box and it's nothing but the ABCs of the world. In a sense, it's baby talk, the kind of thing you hear the mumbling, stumbling baby talk of one who hasn't the capability to make any connection with the rational world. They think they're advanced, they're not. They're primitive. They're not advanced, it's just the opposite, they're retarded when it comes to truth. Human wisdom may be an exhibition of brain power but it has no ability to grasp the truth which is beyond human capability. And so what happens is, it's proud about its baby talk and it is truthfully nothing more than the infantile musings of poverty-stricken minds. You can't know the truth about eternity, you can't know the truth about origins, you can't know the truth about consummation of the ages, you can't know the truth about heaven and hell, you can't know the truth about the world of God unless God comes and tells you...and that's what this is, a supernatural book.
And He came not only in the truth written, but in the truth incarnate in His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ. Philosophy does not advance man, it goes the other way. It regresses him, it keeps him ever increasingly infantile. So beware of philosophy.
There's a second issue here and if you would drop down to verse 16, I'll talk about this one for a minute. Here's another thing that intrudes into this simplicity of knowing Christ, "Let no one act as your judge in regard to food or drink, or in respect to a festival or a new moon, or a Sabbath day, things which are a mere shadow of what is to come but the substance belongs to Christ." You're complete in Christ. In Him all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are found. He is the substance and all that mentioned in verse 16 is just the shadow.
What he's talking about here is external religion. What he's talking here about is ceremony, ritual. And, I mean, it's characteristic of religion that it has its rituals. It was a characteristic of Judaism which Paul is primarily addressing. You see, they wanted to sit in judgment on people as to what they ate. Were they kosher or not in their diet? And did they observe the appropriate festival? And did they...did they maintain the Sabbath day? And then those special new moon Sabbaths? That was their big issue. Ritual, did they bow down? Did they genuflect? Did they participate in the mass? Did they light the candles? Did they say their beads? Did they go through whatever ritual they needed to go through? Did they have fastings? Did they go through ceremonial washings? Did they participate in rites and duties and behaviors that are intended somehow mechanically to convey some kind of divine connection? Paul says, "Don't get led astray by that. Don't think for a minute that some external activity, some external event in which you participate is necessary." The Jews were even saying that, and some of them claimed to be Christians in the time of the New Testament, that look, if you're a Christian, God's not going to accept you even though you believe in His Son unless you're circumcised. And they were making issues out of being circumcised, as verse 11 in this passage mentions. They were saying, "Well, God's not going to accept you unless you've been circumcised." And Paul in other places says, "Forget circumcision, that had a place in the past, that was a picture, that was a shadow. Sabbath had a place, it was showing you something to come. Dietary laws had a place, they separated you from the nations around you to protect you from the intrusion of their false religious systems. All that God gave you had a place of protecting, preserving you and depicting the reality to come but the reality is here, Christ is here, set the shadow aside, the substance is here, you don't need the ritual."
So when you say to someone who says, "Well what does it mean to be a Christian? Does it mean that I..that I need to go to this event and that event? Is that how I guarantee my...my place in heaven? Do I need to do these rituals and say these prayers and recite these things and light these candles, etc., etc., whatever the rituals are?" Paul says no. You'll want, as you heard in testimony tonight, you'll want to be with God's people, you'll want to be with the body of Christ, the church, you'll want to worship the Lord because you're going to love Him, you're going to love His people, You're going to love His Word, you'll want to do all that. But no external activity contributes anything to you that somehow Christ hasn't done. When you give your life to Christ, that's it. That's the full package. And you come like today because your heart brings you because you want to sing and you want to fellowship and you want to rejoice and you want to share and you want to enjoy the ministry that goes on because you love the things that Christ has given you. There are always those legalistic people who say, "Well Christ isn't all, you have to do this and you have to do that, and you have to do the other or you're not going to make it True spirituality is based on externals." He says in verse 16, "Don't let anybody act in judgment on you on that stuff. It's Christ...it's Christ and only Christ.
And there's a third issue here, down in verse 18, very interesting, mysticism. This historically, and even today, we don't have time to develop all of it, but historically and even today is always played into religion. You know, mysticism and religion kind of go together and there is this idea that when you're religious...people talk about it today, "I'm very spiritual." You hear people say that? "I'm very spiritual, I really work on my spiritual side." Who knows what they're talking about? But they're generally talking about some kind of mystical thing. And by mysticism you mean the idea that somehow you can connect with God through some elevation of your mind, some intuitive experience, some feeling, some longing somehow lifts you up and you connect. Somehow there's a higher spiritual experience, you know. Some people think they can stand on the shore and look at the ocean and touch God. No. You can say there is God because look...but you're not going to have an experience with God there. Some people think that when they see beauty or feel the breeze or get in the woods, they're feeling God. No, they're just feeling the breeze.
So he says in verse 18, "Let no one keep defrauding you..." See, people want to attack the truth, the simplicity in Christ. They want to attack it with philosophy. They want to attack it with legalism. Now they want to attack it with mysticism. "Let no one defraud, steal your prize by delighting in self-abasement." And this is one of the ways in which mysticism works, self-abasement. These are people who think that somehow if they just take a vow of poverty, you know, strip themselves of everything, "I'm not going to be married, and I'm going to own nothing and I'm going to go into a cave and contemplate my navel for the rest of my life. I will some how by this self-abasement rise to a higher level of spirituality." There are people who go around their whole life with little needles and things in their shoes and rocks, some of them wear belts that have tacks on the inside just to irritate their flesh and cause it to bleed cause somehow they think that this is going to induce some transcendental connection to God.
And there are those who get involved in worshiping angels. The Essenes did this. They were one of the sects of Judaism in the day of the New Testament. Roman Catholicism has been involved in that. And there are many...Roman Catholicism has a whole section in their theology on the veneration of angels. Somehow you can transcend this life and touch the throne of God by connecting with angels. I remember listening to the testimony of one Charismatic woman who said that their plane was wobbling coming into Chicago one night, which anybody who flies into Chicago has experienced. And she looked out the window and there was a big angel holding up one wing. Personally I only drink the 7 Up, you know. And so this makes her somehow transcendent. This is a woman who's got a mystical experience. This is someone...look, I've flown a lot of times, I've never seen a big angel holding up anything. You know, this is a very intimidating thing for just us poor people who are counting on nothing but Christ. And then there are those people, not just angels, but verse 18 says, "Who take a stand on visions, on things they've seen, secret revelations." I had a woman say to me one time, "I don't really care what the Bible says, I know what Jesus told me." Boy, that's a bizarre statement. You don't care what the Bible says, you...you know what Jesus told you? That's very intimidating to those of us to whom He's never said anything. Jesus never said a word to me in my whole life, never heard Him. God's never said a word to me. The only time God ever speaks to me is in His Word, the Scripture. Doesn't God lead you? Sure. But I don't have any...I don't have any way to know that. I don't have a red light on my head that when God's prompting me it goes around. It's Me...and yet you have a whole movement of people today who take their stand on their so-called visions, their so-called secret revelations, their trips to heaven, their visions of God, their encounters with Jesus, encounters with angels. Paul says, "You know what? That defrauds you." That's strong language. Stay away from that, that will rob your spiritual life and your reward. Why? Because it will cause you to trust in something that cannot be true and you will then give to that a greater authority than you give to this. And you've been defrauded.
Evangelicalism is filled with people being defrauded by false visions. Also he says in verse 18, "You become inflated without cause in your fleshly mind." You get proud. I think in some ways, and I'm not trying to pick on people, but I watch these televangelists and I think if there's anything about them that is hard for me to accept, it is their pride. It's just over the top sense of importance, self-importance. I mean, you must think you're pretty important if God talks to you just about every day. Gives you visions, revelations, sends angels to do all these things. The problem is, you see, verse 19, "These people do not hold fast to the head." Who's the head? Christ. He's the head. Back in verse 18 chapter 1, "He's the head of the body of the church. He's the beginning. He's the one." All of a sudden Christ isn't the issue anymore, you are with all your visions and all your mystical experiences. You cannot exalt Christ and you at the same time, it doesn't work.
So watch for those who want to corrupt the simplicity of Christ with human philosophy and wisdom and psychology and all that. Watch those who want to corrupt the simplicity that's in Christ with legalism and rules and rituals and external ceremonies and quote/unquote sacraments that somehow are necessary in their minds to connect you to God. Watch those who want to exalt mystical supposed supernatural experiences that are nothing more than the imaginations of their own mind, designed in many cases to manipulate people into thinking they are some great ones from God and thereby making them, in many cases, wealthy.
And there's one other one, asceticism. That's a word you don't hear used much. Asceticism. This takes me back to something I said earlier. Go down to verse 20. "If you have died with Christ to the elementary principles of the world, if you..." Let me tell you what happened when you come to Christ. You die to this world. You do. I mean, it's over. You're out of this world, it's behind you, it's in your past and you now live in a new world, the Kingdom of god, the Kingdom of God's dear Son, the realm of salvation, the forgiveness of sins, you're complete in Him, you have all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. So, if that's true, why as if you were still living in the world do you submit yourself to decrees such as "do not handle, do not taste, do not touch?" What is this? This is asceticism. This is back to the monk in the cave. This is back to the people who take an extreme view. You have people today, Rastifarians(???) would be one group who don't wash their hair. That is some kind of transcendental religious conviction that takes them to another spiritual level. That's not new. Did you know in the Middle Ages there was holy vermin? Yeah, that's right. Holy vermin, how did you get that? You never bathed your whole life and you had vermin and they decided it was holy vermin. Why would you go back to that kind of stuff? Why would you go back to some level of ridiculous self-denial? This is just verse 22, he says, "Destined to perish," and it's just more of the commandments and teachings of men.
Now verse 23 tells you why people do this. "They have the appearance of wisdom in self-made religion." You see some times flagellating themselves and it has the appearance of wisdom and self-made religion and humility. It has the appearance, he says actually in verse 23, severe treatment of the body and they're oh so religious, severely treating the body, flagellating the body, having holy vermin. You can even read in church history about men who had themselves castrated in order to eliminate lust and they paraded themselves as eunuchs for God. And the truth of the matter is, that was severe treatment of the body, but look at the end of verse 23, it has no value against fleshly indulgence. It is worthless.
Asceticism is worthless. Anything you do to your body is worthless in terms of spiritual benefit, other than submitting your body in obedience to the truth of God. And you can only do that if Christ is alive and you've been transformed. Everything you ever need is in Christ, everything...everything. And don't you allow yourself to be corrupted by the thought you can have Christ but you have to also have human wisdom, you have Christ but...you need more, He's not enough, you have Christ but you need to keep all the external rules. I lived a portion of my life under that and it just kills your love for Christ. Oh you have Christ, that's good, but oh if you only had Christ plus transcendental experiences and if you only spoke in a heavenly language, and if you only had visions, and if you only interacted with angels. Oh you have Christ, but are you inflicting pain on yourself? Are you abasing yourself? Are you shaving your head? Living in some self-denial? Paul says you don't need any of it, all you need is Christ and Christ alone. All is in Him, complete transformation, complete forgiveness, complete victory and you can't do anything to add to Christ.
Now to close, look at verse 11. "In Him you were also circumcised with the circumcision made without hands in the removal of the body of the flesh by the circumcision of Christ." You know what circumcision was, and what it is. Among the Jews it was symbolic, it indicated that they needed to be cleansed. They needed to be cleansed. There was wickedness in their very nature. And you might think, well that's such strange operation for God to choose, why did He choose that? Because it pointed to the wretchedness of man at the most dramatic in the most dramatic way. If you want to understand that we're sinners, how would you understand that? Well you say we can listen to what you say and we know you're going to manifest sin when you speak. We can watch what you do and you're going to sin when you do things.
Well...but you can pretty well guard your mouth, right?, if you want to. You can hang around somebody a long time and maybe they would guard their tongue and you really wouldn't know how sinful they were. You can hang around somebody and if you were there and they knew you were there, they might not conduct their lives in a sinful way. But if you really want to know how sinful we are as human beings, then you only have to see one thing and that is what kind of children do we produce? Sinners, and sinners, and sinners and sinners, and sinners and sinners. The most profound illustration of human sinfulness is in what it reproduces, and that is what the whole point was in circumcision. God was simply saying you need a cleansing at the very basic root of human nature. And the actual physical surgery was only a symbol of what God knew you needed in your heart. You need a profound cleansing at the very core of your nature. And that's what Paul is saying. We receive that when we come to Christ, a real circumcision, the removal of, this is wonderful, the body of the flesh, the removal of that condemning power of the flesh. Also, when we come to Christ we are buried, verse 12 says, with Him in baptism. This isn't talking about water, water symbolizes that. But we're buried with Him literally in His death. We die with Him on the cross and we rise with Him, it says. This is a complete transformation. When you come to Christ, there is a deep cleansing and that's why you heard these people in the testimony saying, "I used to be like this and I used to be like this and this is what I did and this is what I wanted, and this is what I desired, and now all of that is changed." Why? Because there's been a real cleansing and there's been a real death of the old life and they have risen through their faith in Jesus Christ. It's as if they died on the cross with Him and their sins were all punished and they rose from the grave with Him to new life. And verse 13 explains it another way, you used to be dead in your transgressions and the uncircumcision of your flesh, but He made you alive and He's forgiven all your transgressions. This is it, you come to Christ, takes you through the grave. The old dies, you rise in new life, all the past is gone, all your sins are forgiven and you have a new righteous desire.
Verse 14 adds, "He canceled the certificate of debt consisting of decrees against us which was hostile to us and took it out of the way, nailing it to the cross." You know, when they nailed a criminal to the cross, they would put the crime on the cross. On the top of the cross they would put the crime and so everybody would know why he was executed. And when they nailed Jesus on the cross, Paul says, they wrote your sins up there and then canceled it because the penalty was paid. Satan has no more any power over you either. Verse 15, "Because Christ disarmed the rulers and authorities," meaning the demonic powers, "triumphing over them."
You come to Christ, you receive the forgiveness of sins. You come to Christ, you receive a new nature, a new disposition, a new heart that loves righteousness. You come to Christ and you die to the past and you rise to new life. You come to Christ and you're delivered from the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of His dear Son. You come to Christ and you literally come to the truth that transcends, the truth you'll never find anywhere except in the Word of God and even this truth you'll never understand until the Spirit of God takes up residence and becomes your teacher, and then you know the deep things of God. It's all in Christ. All truth, all wisdom, all knowledge, all understanding, all peace, all joy, all value, all fulfillment, all satisfaction, all purpose, all deliverance, all strength, all comfort, and all eternal hope is in Christ. To have Him is to have everything. Not to have Him is to have nothing.
The Bible calls these the unsearchable riches of Christ. And indeed they are. Let's pray together.
Father, we thank you for a wonderful time tonight. Certainly thinking about Christ is the pinnacle of the exercise of our minds. His glories never cease to stagger us. The wonder of His person as we've been considering Him the last couple of Sunday nights, He is God, He is in fact the eternal I am, the creator of the universe who came into this world to save sinners such as we are, that we are just in awe of Him. And I pray right now, Lord, that You would be gracious to those who are here who have not yet seen the majesty and the glory of Christ and the simplicity of knowing Him in whom all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge are found and being made complete in Him. We need nothing but Christ, the Christ revealed in Scripture to be our Savior, our Lord, our Deliverer, or Redeemer, our Friend and the source of all we need in this life and the life to come. May You be pleased, O God, to reveal Him to many hearts even now, we pray in His name. Amen.
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“Base & Vile Things”
by Sonni de Soto
“Tell me.” Her voice, hoarse and hushed, whispered into the sightless, scopeless space Eli no longer recognized as his room. Without his glasses, the witching hour had warped his pitch-black bedroom, distorting the familiar shapes and scales into strange shades of themselves.
“Say it.” Her tone tightened as he felt Her lean in closer. Her hot breath felt wet as it fluttered against his shivering skin. He bit his lip to seal the words back, blood touching his tongue sharp and metallic like a sacrifice.
He wouldn’t say it. Couldn’t.
Lord knew, he shouldn’t.
Eli tried to turn away, but he was dragged back by the tangled tug of his trapped strands held tight in Her hand, his scalp burning as She pulled. His teeth released on a gasp, his head forced back to stretch and expose his vulnerable throat as he gulped breathlessly.
He loved Her.
“I can make you,” She murmured with a biting sweetness that sunk sharp as the nails that scratched and scored his scalp. “You know I can.”
Utterly unwillingly, he loved Her.
She held such power over him already; giving Her those words—tiny things that always felt so large—felt like too much. He could feel them bubble, like an incantation or a potion, in his throat. Felt them burn on his tongue. He bit his lip.
A part of him wanted to give them to Her. He wanted to give Her everything.
But, if he did, he wondered—worried—what part of him would be left.
Her silken weight swooped almost unbearably hot atop him, making his head rear back and his spine arch against the sensation—like a current, live and electric—that shot through him. She slithered over him, the satiny slide of Her hair spilling around him as She lowered Herself over him, the touch of Her skin a scorch along the length of his body. Each caress felt like a lash as Her ankles linked and lingered, brushing the bony bridge of Her left foot up and down and up his leg again.
Her hands crept to press hard against his chest. It scalded, that touch, as She sidled over his body, Her legs vise-like as they pressed into his hips. He cried out, the sound scratchy and weak compared to the scream caught—choked—in his throat.
Blind in the heavy darkness, he writhed against the small, but unshakable shape anchoring him down onto the comforter. Fragile fingers gripped his wrists like manacles as manicured nails dug like talons into his skin. He couldn’t see Her. Not really. Just a faint outline—a sinuous shadow—flowing, undulating over him as his near-sighted eyes strained to see.
He tried to trace the curve of Her, to touch with his gaze what his shackled hands couldn’t take. But the more he fought to focus on Her—to know the secrets of Her shoulders and spine, Her cheeks and thighs—the more She seemed to melt into the moonless night.
He lunged for Her, gritting out a throaty growl. With his hands and hips still held tight, he surged—whole-bodied and determined—toward Her, reaching for Her heat. Aching against the halted arch, he snarled as his chest met nothing.
Just the echo of Her.
Warmth like the smoke from a spectral flame.
He fell back to the bed, defeat a dull thump in the down as Her laughter, light and low, purred in his ear like a taunt. “Tell me.” The summons was a song that set his teeth on edge. Her tongue flicked a fiery lick along the sweat-slicked skin of his neck. “Tell me.”
So he did.
Like he always did.
He told Her. He loved Her.
She smiled, the white gleam almost swallowed by the dark, as She tore the confession from his mouth—his soul—on a howling moan. His whole body tightened as the tortured sound spilled out into the shadows. He jerked, his release a ragged, rough relief that left him feeling drained as Her body blanketed his.
She’s so hot, he marveled on a mewling yawn, Her skin all soft and slick heat. He should have been warm beneath Her, warmed by Her. Instead, he let his tired eyes close and shivered against Her as She cuddled closer, a fire that burned but offered no comfort. A flame that stole heat and gave none back.
God help me, he thought as he drifted off into dream, I love Her.
When he opened his eyes again, after hours of pure, peaceful darkness, he raised his hand to shield himself from the sun’s glare and sighed.
She was gone.
He could feel it.
His room was sunlit but cold. Empty and alone.
He lay back down, rolling onto his side as he touched the warm space where She’d been. The warm space where They’d been. He sunk low against the bedding, all but burying himself in the last remains of Their heat and scent.
He should leave the bed. The day shone bright and new as sunlight fanned itself across his bed.
It was time to wake up.
And he would.
But for now, while Her warmth lingered, he lay here, pressed flat against the mattress and nuzzled his cheek close, as he felt the comforter inevitably cool.
Sonni de Soto is a kinkster of color who loves horror’s ability to make the strange seem settled and the settled strange. Please find more of her work at sonnidesoto.blogspot.com and follow her at facebook.com/
Happy Halloween from Circlet Press and we hope you’ve been enjoying our Halloween erotic microfictions series! Here’s a treat for all you readers: 10% off any online order here at Circlet.com now through October 31st. Use the coupon code HALLOWME at checkout. | English | NL | 43641e208d5b12e71ba8561f19fabe2d50e40998131d6466e22b863c073fe88b |
Feral goats at Harris Bay
After the day’s endeavours, I had a cracking night’s sleep at the bothy. However, I did have something of a spooky nocturnal experience (there’ll be none of that, thanks). James had delighted in telling me about various ghostly experiences people had reported while staying at Dibidil bothy – three blokes being rotated 160 degrees while they slept, foot-tugging presences and spectral apparitions. That kind of thing. So there I was aslumber, when I was woken by someone standing next to the bunks – I was on the top bunk, James was below and Rich was in the other room. I was a bit groggy with sleep and had the vague impression that it was Rich standing there. The figure reached out and took my hand – I had a clear impression of the contact and then I drifted off to sleep. Rich avers that he never left his bed that night. It could have been a dream, but if so it was a very lucid one. Spookeeeeeey.
Anyway, aside from this phantasmagorical interlude, I woke well rested at 6am and the weather looked ok. I brewed up as quietly as possible, pulled on my boots and headed out the bothy door and back up the glen.
I made good time, reaching the Bealach an Oir in about 45 minutes. The remaining peaks of the Dibidil Horseshoe, those I’d not managed in the murk the previous day, were cloud free. I had an incident-free saunter up Trollaval…
…and was soon atop the east summit looking onto the west summit that had looked so menacing in the murk the previous day.
The view across the Bealach an Fhuarain to Ainshval gave a good insight into the route up from bealach to summit.
Firstly, however, was the small matter of getting down to the bealach on Trollaval’s south ridge. It was difficult to find the vague path down and I ended up sliding myself down a few slippery slabs on my arse. Brrrrr, I was really glad we hadn’t attempted this section in the murk the previous day. Once down, it was a simple matter of turning the buttress rising above the south side of the bealach to the west and following a vague path up to join the east ridge. From here, the path is discernible as it climbs in the lee of the ridge above the Grey Corrie to the summit. I could feel it in my legs, but the path made matters considerably easier than had it not been there.
Once up, I paused briefly to take in the splendid vista before cantering along the whalebacked ridge to down-and-up over the summit of Sgurr nan Goibhrean, then along to the summit of Sgurr nan Gillean.
The views were tremendous, but I didn’t linger long as there was still a big walk to come in the afternoon. I descended initially south from the summit to avoid the crags on Sgurr nan Gillean’s east ridge. Swinging east after a while, I continued a traversing descent into Glen Dibidil. From on high I could see Rich and James outside the bothy and a little later I saw James loaded up and heading off along the pony path to Papadil.
I was soon back at the bothy, where I caught up with Rich who denied having held my hand in the night. I packed, had a brew and some food and half an hour later we were off on the trail of James. It was hard going along the serpentine path laden with a heavy pack, especially after springing around packless on the Cuillin ridge. Rich was ahead of me and suddenly he disappeared as if vapourised by a Martian death-ray. Happily, his vanishing act was temporary and terrestrial in nature – he’d lost the vague path and wandered off into the convoluted terrain before spotting a cunningly-sited cairn, which put him back on track. This was something of a relief as once he’d been swallowed up by the wild and rugged landscape, it could have taken an age before we found each other again.
Gladly reunited, we stuck adhesively to the path and were soon descending towards Loch Papadil. Here we found James, skulking behind the small area of mixed woodland growing around the ruins of Papadil Lodge.
James had made the walk over from Dibidil without too much trouble from his knee and felt ok to continue, so after a short break we hoisted our sacks and climbed away from the beautiful loch once more.
The terrain between Papadil and Harris is fairly rough, steep and largely pathless, but by carefully picking a route through the complicated terrain we made good progress without too much trouble. Myself and Rich cantered along, while James kept up his own steady pace.
We’d climbed to about 250m along the seaward flank of Ruinsival and just where the mountain drops its shoulder to reveal the broad sweep of Harris Bay, we arrived at a large cairn which – we discovered – marked the start of a distinct track that gradually descended around the NW flank of Ruinsival before skirting to the rear of the bay. This made life much easier, but after a while we decided to abandon the comfort of the path to take a more direct line towards the shore.
This made for a tussocky descent and is not recommended for those carrying a knee injury. Happily, James elected to stay with the path as he was in no particular rush. Myself and Rich crossed the Abhainn Fiachanais and the Abhainn Rangail without problems and picked our way along the shore, delighted to see that there was an enormous amount of driftwood washed up. We arrived at a beach just by the outflow of the Glen Duian River where we pitched our tents by a very welcoming expanse of level grassy ground demarcated by a collapsed low wall.
James soon rolled up and we set about gathering some firewood. A small herd of perhaps twenty feral goats, including a few of this winter’s kids, were hanging out on the beach eating kelp; they seemed largely unbothered by our presence, so the vague aroma of fromage du chevre hung around our campsite for the rest of the evening. We soon got a fire going and sat for a long while reflecting on the day’s endeavours and hatching plots to tackle the following day. It had been a grand day – what would the morning bring?
For a vastly superior account of the second half of this day’s walk, read James’ masterful account here. | English | NL | 93da545f552e53ca78e3534658e7cf6c984fc950977c8ce4221f8a8184fbed2e |
“Why does God command us to worship?” Behind this question, I think, is the premise that demanding devotion or veneration for oneself in anyway is vulgar; worship must never be a requirement, especially by the object of the worship; that would constitute a conflict of interest and would be essentially self-serving. This sounds reasonable until the questioner goes home and discovers their spouse in the arms of another person; or until, after working and saving money for a child’s future, the person learns that the child has stolen and maxed out their credit cards. Certainly a wife does not worship her husband any more than children worship their parents but the bonds of respect and reverence that we experience everyday are deeply rooted in the greater command that we “shall” worship God. If there is no mandate or regulation from God for worship and devotion, then, by extension, there is no offense in adultery or extortion.
True, worship should not be done purely out of obligation. However, removing the obligation altogether actually robs worship of moral value (and, by extension every relationship which is built on respect, trust and love). If God has not commanded us to worship then it is not actually wrong for us to treat him and all his gifts with indifference or even hostility; nor is it really superior for us to worship him. Worship in this view is essentially a morally neutral activity. We are then relieved of all responsibility, liability, and punishment that may result from deficient or nonexistent worship and worship itself is relieved of nearly all objective meaning.
In answering this question it may be helpful to define a few terms. First of all the word “command,” as I am using it, is an active command; a royal decree constituting a law. One may say that God commands worship the way a sun set commands awe or a great leader commands respect. This is certainly true of God but is not what is intended in the question. If that were the case there would be no controversy. The problem is one of authority and responsibility. So “command,” for our consideration, is a divine mandate or ruling that is to be obeyed.
Secondly the word “Worship” means, on its face, to ascribe or acknowledge the worth of someone or something. More specifically (especially with respect to a biblical view of worship) it is the rendering of reverence for someone of higher rank, class or nature. In both Hebrew and Greek the concepts is associated with the physical posture of bowing or full prostration which itself is a symbol of complete submission. Biblical worship is expressed through consistent genuine loving submission, trust, praise, devoted service, obedience and fellowship. It is the joyful, affectionate centering of one’s life around the person and purposes of God.
God not only commands that we worship Him, He commands exclusive worship. Furthermore he has regulated and defined the appropriate means of worship so that there is a right and a wrong way to worship Him. He has even decreed an active punishment for those who do not worship him. It is true that commanding worship like this is obscene and vulgar – if the object of the worship is not worthy of such worship and the subjects are not in any way indebted to the object. It would be blasphemous for a mortal man to demand from other mortal men the worship due God (unless he were God in human flesh). Many people, even Christians, retain such a tiny, watered down, humanized image of God that it is hardly a wonder that we are offended by such a command.
But whatever image man may serve, God is not like man, nor is he like anything else that is created. God’s command for worship does not spring from narcissism nor is he compelled by any need of his own. Narcissism is, by definition, an obsessive pre-occupation with oneself based on a delusion of undue grandeur. God is, necessarily, a perfect and purely actual being; he has no potential to become more than what He is and He has need of nothing. He has always been and will always be absolutely unchangeably perfect in glory and holiness. He is also the only source of being for all that exists outside of Himself. If He were anything less than these he could not be God. Thus if God is God then He is uniquely justified and qualified to command us to worship because we are indebted to him for our existence; not just our creation, but our continued sustained existence forever. This doesn’t even take into account the goodness he has shown us in the atonement.
Many questions arise here but I am endeavoring to answer only one. I can think of three reasons why God has commanded that we worship him. Unfortunately none of them recommend relief for the fragile ego of the neo-pagan or secular humanist; especially those vehemently opposed to any notion of being obligated to worship someone higher than themselves.
The first reason can be summed up in the simple phrase that often accompanies the specific command to worship only God: “…for the Lord your God is a jealous God among you.” (Deut 6) Yes, the Lord commands that we worship him because He is a jealous God. He is jealous for his people and he is jealous for his own glory. The idea of jealousy here must not be understood as an outrageous over reaction to a rival as it is among humans. This jealousy is not born of fear or insecurity; after all God has no true rivals. No one, not even Satan could ever really hope to supplant God. Nor is God’s jealousy tainted with presumptuous stupidity; God has a perfect understanding of himself and is in no way deluded. To say that God is jealous means that He does not tolerate any who pretend rivalry; he is the fierce avenger of any that depart from him.
God is jealous for us just as a husband is jealous for his wife and will go to great lengths to keep her from illegitimate suitors. God knows that He is the sole source and standard for all that is right and he is the sole source of life for everything that lives. Man, by worshiping something other than God is submitting himself to something that is insufficient and unworthy even corrupt. Such worship only breeds corruption and deficiency in the worshiper. God’s commands that we worship Him, therefore, is a good and loving command because He knows that He is the only thing in existence that is sufficiently worthy of worship.
Perhaps most significantly, God commands our worship because he is jealous for his own glory. Suppose a man took a picture of a famous painting like “Storm on the Sea of Galilee” by Rembrandt and he had it printed on a canvass and mounted it on his wall. Now suppose that the man had a fairly uninformed or unintelligent friend come for dinner who lauded the photographer for his skill with a paint brush. If the photographer affirmed that he had painted the piece he would be misleading his friend and receiving honor that he is not worthy of. When we worship something other than God we are attributing his glory and good works to something that is not truly the source of that glory. Paul says in Romans one that God has made himself and his glory known to all of mankind so that we are without excuse. Thus our rendering of praise to something other than him is dishonest and a God who is just and true can not tolerate such deception. The Lord has made us for himself and he is worthy of all praise. For us to treat his glory and goodness with less reverence than it deserves is sin. To treat God’s glory and mercy with less than absolute devotion and worship is the epitome of narcissism; it is, in the end, the undue worship of oneself.
But of course God knows that man will not worship him for the will of man is so damaged by the fall that he “does not seek God” and “does not want God in his thinking.” This brings me to the third reason for the command. God’s command to worship Himself is really the essence of the law; to love and fear God with the whole of your life and person is what Jesus called “the first commandment” on which hang all the law and the prophets. So what purpose does the law serve? Paul says in Galatians 3:10-13 & 19b
But those who depend on the law to make them right with God are under his curse, for the Scriptures say, “Cursed is everyone who does not observe and obey all the commands that are written in God’s Book of the Law.” So it is clear that no one can be made right with God by trying to keep the law. For the Scriptures say, “It is through faith that a righteous person has life.” This way of faith is very different from the way of law, which says, “It is through obeying the law that a person has life.”
But Christ has rescued us from the curse pronounced by the law. When he was hung on the cross, he took upon himself the curse for our wrongdoing…”
“..Why, then, was the law given? It was given alongside the promise to show people their sins. But the law was designed to last only until the coming of the child who was promised…” (NLT)
In short, the law reveals to us that we are spiritually dead slaves of sin who are answerable to an almighty, just and perfect God to the end that we might be subjected to either his righteous condemnation or his free gift of grace which we have by faith in our substitute Jesus. Mercy is meaningless without actual guilt and guilt cannot exist without a law.
Therefore, since God is the perfect and holy, all-powerful, all-knowing, infinite, self-existent source of all that exists outside of himself, we are indebted to him for our continued existence and he is uniquely qualified and justified to make demands upon his creation. His command to worship himself flows from his righteous jealousy for love and truth and all that pertains to his glory. In the end the command to worship (which is the essence of the Mosaic Law) was given to us that we might be held accountable for our sin unto condemnation and (for God’s elect) then eligible for salvation by grace through faith in Christ unto the glory of God. | English | NL | bdc66874c6564e72439bf564d4172241c99054e1910462c14229f24094bfb598 |
We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4 In him was life, and that life was the light of men. 5 The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it. 6 There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. 7 He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. 8 He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. 9 The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. 11 He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. 12 Yet to all who received him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God-- 13 children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband's will, but born of God. 14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. 15 John testifies concerning him. He cries out, saying, "This was he of whom I said, 'He who comes after me has surpassed me because he was before me.' " 16 From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another. 17 For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 18 No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only,who is at the Father's side, has made him known.
One of the most powerful passages in Scripture. I always ponder how evolutionists can adequately explain the origin of language. Many content themselves believing we just grunted, but they offer no evidence of that.
Language is beyond the atheists' grasp. | English | NL | 796104686613198abf978aefc1f8ebe4a1192e7764416320aa28f687af0035bd |
Donald Emerson Kyle of Chilliwack, aged 69, passed away on Aug. 18, 2003 at Chilliwack General Hospital, after a brave battle with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.
He is survived by his wife of 45 years, Carole (nee Thiel); his children, Deborah (John), and Scott (Carol Lee); and his grandchildren, Jenna, Reid and Guylaine, all of Nova Scotia. He is also survived by his brother James of Ontario.
He was predeceased by his father, Emerson (1986), and his mother Mabel (1999), both of Ontario.
Don was born in Clinton, Ont. on December 22, 1933. He was raised in Kippen, Ont. where he developed a life long interest in fishing and other outdoor activities. Prior to his marriage to Carole in 1958, Don began a 44-year career in the mobile home and recreational vehicle manufacturing business, concluding with Western Canada RV of Abbotsford in 1999. For those who had the opportunity to know him, Don will be remembered as honest, dignified and hard working.
A memorial service will be held in Ontario at a later date.
For those wishing to honour his memory, the family kindly requests that donations be made to the B.C. Lung Association, or a charity of choice. | English | NL | c16b8c6aaabcec789aff882a9cec6ce02a24ac89b30fbedbe2432ec2c6c01f50 |
Jim is the founder of Steer and was the CEO for the first 25 years. Jim is a chartered civil engineer and has extensive experience in transport strategy and planning.
Jim has led multiple major projects in Britain and Ireland, USA, and other countries worldwide. His experience encompasses planning, appraisal, policy and business strategy; advising national and regional government and state agencies, and corporate entities. Jim has played a major role in urban transit planning and he initiated Britain’s high-speed rail programme. He was also seconded to the Executive of the Strategic Rail Authority as head of its strategic planning function.
At Steer, Jim continues to provide high-level advice and guidance to our project teams, as well as having an advisory role for senior management clients. Jim is also a member of our Board of Directors. | English | NL | a34801fb14639fd32f803a3fb1eef62f28989e82f3ce23d842f0bf5a8007d0be |
HistoryHaven was left to Gustav Tash, a priest of Erathis who ran an orphanage, when he was only a baby. As the boy grew, Gustav noted Haven's respect for law and order and his natural gift at understanding and navigating bureaucracy, and encouraged Haven to devote himself to Erathis as well. Haven quickly ascended through the ranks of Erathis' priesthood in his late teens, and spent his twenties splitting his time between his religious duties, and a job as a minor bureaucrat where he saw he could leverage his talents to concretely improve the lives of those around him. Both Gustav and Haven watched Zannon Carter's rule of the Overwatch from a distance, and the two agreed that though Carter espoused the expansion of civilization, his tyrannical means were unacceptable. Cities that do not look after the good of the people who belong to them defeat the purpose of creating civilization in the first place. The two proceeded to set aside their private lives, and together with a handful of like minded clergy, started a secret sect they called "The Lanterns of Erathis". When Zannon Carter's army of warforged fell, the Lanterns saw it as a tipping point, and set out across Theria to put their beliefs into action. Their ultimate goal: to show the people of Theria that cities can be great, capable, and benevolent, and that when they are, Erathis is at work within them. Show spoiler
Haven joined the remnants of the party as they regrouped in Lochfort after the devastating werewolf attack. He helped them track down Trixy and not long after find the pack and try to get revenge. During the fight, Haven is bitten several times by werewolves. After the fight, he is stricken with doubt about his future but is talked into remaining with the party until they can figure out what to do. Mere days later while camping for the night, the campsite is attacked by a briar troll. Haven is hit hard and turned into a werewolf and attacks the nearest thing to him, Sevedus. The fight turns bad as the troll and Haven try their best to destroy the party until Daegon unleashes his most powerful attack, killing the troll and burying Acteronis Athanasius and Trixy with it. Daegon and Khoury manage to escape while Haven feasts on Sevedus. After nearly a month and a half as a werewolf, Haven's penchant for organization and management begin to pay off, much to the dismay of the town of Lochfort. He managed to wrangle all of the local werewolves into a super-pack and all but decimate the town. The pack was finally defeated when a new group entered town and along with Briahna and a bunch of paladins from the Temple of Kord in Esterholt took the fight to them. Haven was killed by Briahna, who was bitten several times herself during the fight. | English | NL | 9d2c78eae8399a7e24e9dc7154108788e233ef191cc50cc5895317600a121371 |
Theo Van Dyck is an emerging young artist quickly making a name for himself as a highly versatile trumpeter in New York City. He has performed as a classical and jazz artist in venues all around the world including Carnegie Hall, David Geffen Hall, Birdland Jazz Club, The Banff Centre, and The Shanghai Conservatory of Music. Theo has been a featured soloist with the Yale Philharmonia and Interlochen Academy Orchestra, as well as on the Charles Ives Concert Series and hit radio show A Prairie Home Companion.
Born in England, he grew up listening to his father sing with the Wells Cathedral Choir. At age seven, he moved to Maine and began playing the trumpet shortly afterwards. Soon after he began playing, he received a Downbeat Magazine award for Outstanding Performance as a jazz soloist, and in the same year took home the top prize in the Maine State Jazz Festival for his age category. When he was seventeen, Theo was a finalist for the National YoungArts Foundation, where he performed at the New World Center in Miami, FL and was a Presidential Scholar in the Arts nominee.
Theo earned a B.M. in trumpet performance from The Juilliard School under the study of Ray Mase and Mark Gould. During his time there, he performed in many different orchestras, chamber groups, and new music ensembles. He developed an affinity for new music and collaborated with many different composers, giving the world premiere of several works including Saad Haddad's Shifting Sands for trumpet and electronics. Most prominently he was featured on Juilliard's Beyond The Machine program performing his own electro-acoustic works in addition to Shifting Sands. Theo went on to earn a Masters Degree from the Yale School of Music, where he continued his classical music studies. While there, he also held the Jazz Studies teaching assistant position, which involved teaching students privately and playing in the Yale Jazz Ensemble.
Currently living in Manhattan, Theo is an active performer and teacher around the Tri-State area. Recently he has performed with both the San Antonio Symphony and the Binghamton Philharmonic and has recorded a piece scored for five trumpets and electric guitar to be on Pulitzer Prize-winning composer Du Yun's forthcoming album. Theo has recently become a member of The Brass Project, “A sextet focused on diverse styles and audiences” - Musical America. | English | NL | 3459dbd46dc9bc175434f9cdae54e0a60e29dd7ccef79985bc4653cbcf912191 |
Well, there's a bit of context to this, but not much. It was originally going to be a Stand for the Stand MOC "trend," but I decided against it. I didn't know enough about Stands and wanted to do something more with this guy.
He also filled in the empty spot for a Self MOC in the process!
This guy's shoulder joints are extremely poseable. They look messy and hard to use, but with positioning them in certain ways, they can achieve poses few other humanoid MOCs can. They are a tad gappy, but I think it's worth the range.
Overall this is the most articulated MOC I've ever made.
He also has two energy-esque blades that are created from his palms.
Also, here's a brief look at his general torso construction...
I'm still working for a full story, but here's what I have (by the way, he is not a member of the Bionicle Universe).
Sorano was originally part of a biomechanical race of beings, each containing personality and sentience. It was rumored that when any of them dies, their personality is carried over to the next born of their species. Well, Sorano one day had been exploring a mountainous area, and was doing well until he slipped. He tumbled down the side of rocks, the blows slowly killing him. At this point, he was far from any civilization. He had died. The personality left his body like expected, but had nowhere to go, and his body remained animated. His empty body continues to tread the outlands of his planet, looking for a way to fill his hollow soul.
That's it! Any constructive criticism is much appreciated! | English | NL | 96b797633dd74182b2d0c197320955e67ece741f1b9e8bf66161dcb5f6e13420 |
Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Well known for her poetry, Dickinson is a figure commonly cornered into an identity seemingly hyper-feminine; one of quiet subservience and meekness. This is something Adrienne Rich refutes in her essay “Vesuvius at Home,” saying “I have a notion that genius knows itself: that Dickinson chose her seclusion, knowing she was exceptional and knowing what she needed.”
In her poetry, she tackles a wide range of themes from death and mortality to love and intimacy. While having never married, Dickinson is known to have kept a close relationship with her sister-in-law, Susan Huntington Dickinson, who married her brother Austin.
While reading these letters and some of Emily’s poetry, look for themes of intimacy and compassion between the women. And how, their relationship, while being allowed to exist as even married women of the time were thought to need extra emotional support outside of their husbands, they cross and push the lines of platonic and romantic love. | English | NL | c2ac64b5ef02a1852304b126e9180414dfd0dc164515ab4c6995a28b2ab91eec |
After dinner, they attend a street carnival; Emily leaves after a masked man who looks like James tries to seduce her. When Emily hugs James, he pulls away from her, telling her that he does not like to be touched. It was nominated for two , including Worst Actor and Worst New Star. He left school at a young age and worked hard, and while still a teenager, he bought a run-down house and repaired it. After he began to accumulate wealth, women became attracted to him and he started playing games to keep things interesting. He gives her a bouquet of orchids and denies making advances to her the previous evening, and as an apology, he offers to show her the city.
Title Writer s Performer Length 1. She realizes James is incapable of acting upon his own emotions and tries to experience passion through others. Emily finds their actions disturbing. After the meeting, Claudia asks Emily about her impressions of James. The married couple is having marital problems because of the wife's infidelity. She meets Claudia's date; a wealthy man named James Wheeler Rourke.
Emily says that she has become obsessed with James, but that he would never touch her. Claudia is angry and decides to proceed with the hotel's sale even though she does not own it, hoping that she will be able to circumvent James' actions. Claudia and Emily get a very good deal. Claudia instructs Emily to cover her date for the night. The married couple gives James a necklace; he gives it to Emily.
She tells Emily that James was an only child who stuttered, and is a completely self-made man. Emily agrees and is introduced to Claudia Dennis Bisset , one of the firm's top executives. Emily accuses James of setting people up to disappoint him and then throwing them aside when they do. He responds that he never sets anybody up and that they disappoint him of their own accord. The next morning, Claudia invites a young surfer to her room, and asks Emily—who can speak Portuguese—to translate what the surfer says.
James intrigues Emily; he is quiet and asks personal questions without being demanding or rude. They ride away happily on a motorcycle together. They arrive in Rio to finalize the purchase of a hotel, but angry Claudia must fly to , Argentina, to meet the hotel's owner. She is initially reluctant but consents; they attend a party with a married couple that they noticed in the restaurant the night before. Claudia's assistants tell her that a man bought the deed to the old hotel before the deal was finalized; both women realize it was James, who confirms it was him. James encourages the couple to have sex in the limo, which they do.
Jerome uses this information to intimidate Emily to get a better deal for his client. The games became a way of life and he cannot stop playing them. Emily is humiliated; Jerome Greenwood , the owner's attorney, is the stranger she slept with. He tells Emily that he hardly spoke for years after his father abandoned him as a child, and that because of this his teachers thought he was intellectually disabled. That night, Emily dresses up for the carnival festivities and is propositioned by a man in a mask, who offers her the key to his room. At first he resists, but reaches out and holds her when he thinks she will leave him. King reluctantly removed part of a love scene between Otis and Rourke to comply with the R-rating.
Both actors denied this but the director was ambiguous. The film opened in Los Angeles on April 27, 1990 and New York on April 28, 1990. Emily goes to the hotel, finds James and tells him she loves him, but leaves when he does not respond. Claudia discovers the truth and uses the information to threaten Jerome; if he does not complete the deal, she will tell his wife about the affair. Emily and James then visit the hotel that her firm wants to buy, and she tells James that she fears he would disappear if she touched him.
The scene was widely rumored in the media to have shown the two actors—who had become romantically involved during production of the film—actually having intercourse. She wants to reconcile with her husband. Claudia arranges a huge party to commemorate the sale of the hotel. Later that night, Emily returns to her room, where James is waiting for her. The two embrace and have sex. Emily agrees to the stranger's proposal and has sex with him. Later that day, a package is delivered to Emily's room; James has signed over the old hotel's deed to her, saving the deal. | English | NL | c4cb94a9b479cda7ea9eac01ed9c095e69ce78c82f6f4d7bad431cf914ccb133 |
John Thornton has read science fiction since he was a small child. For over thirty years he has been making notes, writing outlines, and drawing deck plans of various colony ships. These jumbled ideas have finally coalesced into book form in his four series: The Colony Ship Eschaton, The Colony Ship Vanguard, The Colony Ship Conestoga, and The Colony Ship Trailblazer. He also wrote a stand-alone novel, the Battle on the Marathon. John Thornton worked as an RN for 10 years in various ICUs, cardiac, surgical, and medical. He saw lots of people die, and he also listened to some really amazing people share their life stories with him. For the past twenty years he has worked visiting sick, shut-ins, and others in need. He struggles with severe arthritis, but endures thanks to the help of his wife. They have four grown daughters.
Connect with John at the following links:
John’s series about the ship Eschaton mentioned in this story starts with the book in the image below. | English | NL | 7015235817bd631a02d3420008c283601e191ebae711b6d86212131059460c4c |
Chaotic Sword God - Chapter 641
Chapter 641: Fighting With the Saint Ruler of the Sect of Dragon and Tiger (One)
Laughing, the Saint Ruler answered, ’’The Qinhuang Kingdom barely has any time to look after itself. How could it spend extra time trying to reach here? Jian Chen, if you were hoping to look to the Qinhuang Kingdom for support, then you should give up now and obediently hand over the tungsten alloy. I won't make things troublesome for you, but if you don't comply, then you'll know the consequences.’’ Unless he was forced to, the Saint Ruler didn't want to kill Jian Chen in front of everyone. It was true that Jian Chen, as a Heaven Saint Master, was as weak as an ant to him, but he was still an Imperial Protector of the Qinhuang Kingdom. Even a Saint Ruler would hesitate to kill one of them so quickly.
A troubled feeling tugged at Jian Chen's mind. It was a guess earlier that a worrisome matter had suddenly appeared for the Qinhuang Kingdom. With the Saint Ruler confirming this guess of his, Jian Chen was still left unsure just what type of difficulties the Qinhuang Kingdom was facing.
’’I'll have to go see what's happening with the Qinhuang Kingdom when I've the time.’’ Jian Chen thought to himself. The Qinhuang Kingdom had helped him so much already, so he wouldn't feel right doing nothing when there was trouble to be had.
Now wasn't the time to be thinking about such a problem. Resuming the topic at hand, Jian Chen glowered dangerously at the Saint Ruler with an angry light in his eyes, ’’Saint Ruler, you don't have the right to speak to me like this anymore.’’ At the last word, a layer of wind surrounded Jian Chen's body and brought him into the air to stand equal to him. There was such a strong intent to battle that it filled the entire area, seemingly freezing it.
Yet, the Saint Ruler continued to look at him with the same look of contempt as before. Jian Chen was nothing more than a mere Heaven Saint Master in his eyes. A person like that was as weak as an ant that could be swatted with the wave of his hand.
’’Jian Chen, do you truly wish this old man to take action!?’’ The Saint Ruler questioned with a voice like ice. His patience was reaching its breaking point.
Thus, the space between Jian Chen and the Saint Ruler became a battlefield.
Observing the matters from afar, the dozen Heaven Saint Masters, Ming Dong, and the others all looked grim. They were worried about Jian Chen since they all knew that a Heaven Saint Master wasn't comparable to a Saint Ruler.
’’Why hasn't the Imperial Protectors of the Qinhuang Kingdom come yet? Are they really as busy as that Saint Ruler said, unable to help? If they don't come, then brother is in danger!’’ Bi Lian anxiously spoke. Everyone thought that Jian Chen had already notified the Qinhuang Kingdom, requesting them to send their Imperial Protectors since he had been extremely calm before. However, seeing Jian Chen in battle against a Saint Ruler without a single Imperial Protector appearing was something that made them all extremely worried and anxious.
’’How impulsive Jian Chen is. The Imperial Protectors aren't even here and he's already angered the Saint Ruler. We don't have anyone that could fight one of those here.’’ Dugu Feng muttered with furrowed eyebrows.
Nubis couldn't help but laugh out loud when he heard both Bi Lian and Dugu Feng. ’’Sorry to disappoint, but the Imperial Protectors you were expecting won't be coming.’’
’’What? They won't be coming? Then how'll we be holding off the Saint Ruler then?’’ Ming Dong started.
Casting his eyes to the airborne Jian Chen, Nubis replied, ’’Hasn't someone already started? That Saint Ruler will take care of the enemy.’’
’’What are you on about? Jian Chen is only a Heaven Saint Master. How could he fight a Saint Ruler?’’ Jian Chen questioned.
’’I'll report to my ancestor, he should have the strength to deal with this Saint Ruler.’’ Huang Luan words and tone were panicked.
Just as everyone was furiously discussing with one another on how to deal with this situation, the sound of a heavy explosion caused everyone to look back. The entire area shook from the shockwave of the blast, obscuring almost everything but Jian Chen and the Saint Ruler in battle.
’’Saint Ruler, I still very clearly remember the hand you bestowed on me. Allow me to return the favor to you today.’’ Jian Chen boomed. Chaotic Force covered his entire body so that its power defended him from the attacks of the Saint Ruler.
The Saint Ruler was slightly taken aback. He was having a hard time believing what he was seeing. ’’But how is this possible? Have you already made the breakthrough to become a Saint Ruler?’’ In the earlier exchange, the Saint Ruler had finally been made aware of Jian Chen's power. It was something that was greater than what a Heaven Saint Master was capable of.
’’This aggressive behavior of your sect, allow me to force you all to return with shame and disgrace!’’ Jian Chen barked out loud. Using the Illusionary Flash, his body flew toward the Saint Ruler like lightning. One of his fists pulsated with Chaotic Force as it slammed toward the chest of his foe. The space trailing the path his fist traveled started to warp. | English | NL | 841892ba8b093113a7cdc98c8638cd3148a8a6dc9a307994149783861d6b8c36 |
The next chapter in Assassin’s Apprentice, “Covenant,” continues the pattern of opening with a passage from an in-milieu reference text before musing on the reestablishment of normal patterns. Fitz glosses over his integration into the daily childhood life of Buckkeep and its town, noting his reluctance to let Burrich know more of them and commenting on relationships with members of his family and people about the castle. Regal and his mother were to be avoided. Verity was distant but kind when remembered the boy. A few friends were to be sought, and several others were annoyances or dangers.
Perhaps the most important, though, was the beginnings of his arrangement with his natural grandfather, Shrewd, King of the Six Duchies and father to Chivalry, Verity, and Regal. Shrewd makes him an object lesson for Regal, openly declaring his intent to use his bastard grandson for the benefit of the kingdom–and specifically in those ways a legitimate prince could not be used. He also swears the boy to his service, young as he is, and smilingly indulges what he hears as a petty exhalation from Regal.
At length, Fitz returns to Burrich, where he learns that the pattern of his life will be changing yet again. He will no longer be a relatively free boy at play, but will instead be put to training at the King’s behest and ultimately, for his service. Fitz is upset by the changes, and Burrich offers him some small comfort.
Fitz then glosses over the forms of change in his life, touching on the various forms of instruction in which he must now engage. He learns a bit more of what is nosed about the castle about himself, his family, and Burrich. He begins to study combat, and he is given his own room, which is described in some detail and compared to his previous lodgings in the stables with Burrich as he finds his way to sleep.
Some things stand out in the chapter:
- The focus on the way in which Shrewd claims Fitz is of interest. He makes a point of hiring Fitz’s service–he says to him “You need not eat any man’s leavings….If any man or woman ever seeks to turn you against me by offering you more than I do, then come to me, and tell me the offer, and I shall meet it. You will never find me a stingy man, nor be able to cite ill use as a reason for treason against me,” situating his loyalty in terms of economics rather than consanguinity–rather than on accepting him as a member of his family or commanding it as his due. (Indeed, Fitz comments on it, that Shrewd “could have declared himself [Fitz’s] grandfather and had for the asking what he instead chose to buy.”) And he does so after making a point to Regal that Fitz’s heritage is both clear and something that makes him particularly useful. It has to be wondered if the terms are a misreading on Shrewd’s part of Fitz’s character or a reminder to the young Fitz, who seems neither to need it nor to understand it in the moment, of his status as an outsider–or perhaps part of a performance for Regal and any others who might be observing that the boy is marked as of use but not necessarily beloved.
- The chapter is the first introduction of the Fool, whose presence suffuses the main line of the Realm of the Elderlings novels. The character receives attention that is denied to many others in the narrative, marking importance, but that importance is left to be imagined at present. Several of the works in the Fedwren Project focus on the Fool, and what they say about the character is more erudite and eloquent than can necessarily be reported here, but this is where the character begins in the narrative, so it is worth attention.
- The chapter also introduces the connection between the Six Duchies and the Elderlings, which becomes an important point in the narrative. Buried amid a flood of other details, it escapes notice at first, but it is a common point of reference in many of the succeeding novels. It is a sign of Hobb’s attention to narrative detail and a commendation of her writerly craft that the image is presented without being made obtrusive, there where readers can find it but not so overtly that it smites them with its presence. More writers could stand such subtlety. | English | NL | 5946209db3872e9416b27402cadc709b3e6b819bd480bdf2e27470211c23db17 |
JOHN PATERSON. 119
duchess, that Paterson was named bishop of Galloway, October 23, 1674. From this see he was translated (March 29, 1679) to that of Edinburgh.
To make this piece of preferment the more sweet, the duke of York, doubt- less at Lauderdale's instigation, ordered, in the king's name, the town council of Edinburgh to take 18,000 merks (nearly 1000) out of a sum of money be- queathed, in trust, for founding an additional church in the city, and employ it to build a house for the new bishop. Subservient even to baseness as the city authorities then were, they yet scrupled to commit this sacrilege, and appealed to the conscience of Paterson in the matter, when he had the grace to waive the indecent claim made in his name. " This generous deportment of the bishop's,' 1 says Maitland, " was so kindly taken, that the town council returned him a letter of thanks, with au offer of 600 merks yearly, in name of house-rent." Their offer, however, he could not decently accept, for by this time due pro- vision was made for his accommodation by royal grant ; but, not to lose all chance of profiting by the opportune occasion, Paterson, in a letter full of pre- tentious self-denial, and expressive of his hatred of " all brybers and bryberie," demanded and got 2000 merks of the town's money, for having preached alone one year, on single salary, in a collegiate church, some sixteen years before !
A few days after the accession of James II. to the throne, he, by a royal man- date, appointed John Paterson and his successors, lord bishops of Edinburgh, to be the chancellors ex-officio of the university of that city for ever ! This compliment, and Paterson's next exaltation, were probably the reward of his courtly compliances; for he had, shortly before, in council with the duke (now king), expressed an opinion, that " the two religions popish and protestant were so equally stated (poised) in his mind, that a few grains of loyalty, in which the protestants had the better, turned the balance with him."
In conformity with this indifferent ism, he and Ross (whom Burnet calls " the two governing bishops " of the time) " procured an address, to be signed by several of their bench, offering to concur with the king in all that he desired with regard to religion, providing the laws might still continue in force against the presbyterians. With this document he went to London, but was dissuaded from presenting it, as something really " too bad." In 1686, the parliament being moved to sanction the king's arbitrary policy, secular and ecclesiastical, and a timid resistance made by Alexander Cairncross, archbishop of Glasgow ; James expelled him, without ceremony, from his charge, and gave it to Pater- son, who was but too happy to accept the equivocal distinction.
But the time of retribution was nigh. The expedition of the prince of Orange, in the autumn of 1688, so opportune in time, and so happy in its results, saved the nation from that slavery which none were so forward to plunge it into as the greater number of the Scottish prelates. To the besotted king, however, they evinced one virtue that of a canine fidelity; for they adhered to his cause when almost all others had given or were about to give it up. Thus, on the 3d of November, 1688 (two days before William's arrival), Paterson and eleven more signed one of the most fulsome addresses that was ever penned, thanking Providence "for miraculously preserving his sacred majesty's person from past perils ; magnifying the Divine mercy in blessing so pious, so wise, and so gracious a king with a son . . . not doubting but God would give him the hearts of his subjects, and the necks of his enemies."
Paterson's possession of his new dignity and temporalities was short and uneasy ; for the hatred of the Glasgow presbyterians towards the episcopal | English | NL | 0e5738dff280502bed05f69b7295b8541259823cf9bf81d7577a5cebb22f366e |
The Bostonians (London & New York: Macmillan & Co., 1886)/Book 2/Chapter 23
Three weeks afterward he stood in front of Olive Chancellor's house, looking up and down the street and hesitating. He had told Mrs. Luna that he should like nothing better than to make another journey to Boston; and it was not simply because he liked it that he had come. I was on the point of saying that a happy chance had favoured him, but it occurs to me that one is under no obligation to call chances by flattering epithets when they have been waited for so long. At any rate, the darkest hour is before the dawn; and a few days after that melancholy evening I have described, which Ransom spent in his German beer-cellar, before a single glass, soon emptied, staring at his future with an unremunerated eye, he found that the world appeared to have need of him yet. The 'party,' as he would have said (I cannot pretend that his speech was too heroic for that), for whom he had transacted business in Boston so many months before, and who had expressed at the time but a limited appreciation of his services (there had been between the lawyer and his client a divergence of judgment), observing, apparently, that they proved more fruitful than he expected, had reopened the affair and presently requested Ransom to transport himself again to the sister city. His errand demanded more time than before, and for three days he gave it his constant attention. On the fourth he found he was still detained; he should have to wait till the evening—some important papers were to be prepared. He determined to treat the interval as a holiday, and he wondered what one could do in Boston to give one's morning a festive complexion. The weather was brilliant enough to minister to any illusion, and he strolled along the streets, taking it in. In front of the Music Hall and of Tremont Temple he stopped, looking at the posters in the doorway; for was it not possible that Miss Chancellor's little friend might be just then addressing her fellow-citizens? Her name was absent, however, and this resource seemed to mock him. He knew no one in the place but Olive Chancellor, so there was no question of a visit to pay. He was perfectly resolved that he would never go near her again; she was doubtless a very superior being, but she had been too rough with him to tempt him further. Politeness, even a largely-interpreted 'chivalry,' required nothing more than he had already done; he had quitted her, the other year, without telling her that she was a vixen, and that reticence was chivalrous enough. There was also Verena Tarrant, of course; he saw no reason to dissemble when he spoke of her to himself, and he allowed himself the entertainment of feeling that he should like very much to see her again. Very likely she wouldn't seem to him the same; the impression she had made upon him was due to some accident of mood or circumstance; and, at any rate, any charm she might have exhibited then had probably been obliterated by the coarsening effect of publicity and the tonic influence of his kinswoman. It will be observed that in this reasoning of Basil Ransom's the impression was freely recognised, and recognised as a phenomenon still present. The attraction might have vanished, as he said to himself, but the mental picture of it was yet vivid. The greater the pity that he couldn't call upon Verena (he called her by her name in his thoughts, it was so pretty), without calling upon Olive, and that Olive was so disagreeable as to place that effort beyond his strength. There was another consideration, with Ransom, which eminently belonged to the man; he believed that Miss Chancellor had conceived, in the course of those few hours, and in a manner that formed so absurd a sequel to her having gone out of her way to make his acquaintance, such a dislike to him that it would be odious to her to see him again within her doors; and he would have felt indelicate in taking warrant from her original invitation (before she had seen him), to inflict on her a presence which he had no reason to suppose the lapse of time had made less offensive. She had given him no sign of pardon or penitence in any of the little ways that are familiar to women—by sending him a message through her sister, or even a book, a photograph, a Christmas card, or a newspaper, by the post. He felt, in a word, not at liberty to ring at her door; he didn't know what kind of a fit the sight of his long Mississippian person would give her, and it was characteristic of him that he should wish so to spare the sensibilities of a young lady whom he had not found tender; being ever as willing to let women off easily in the particular case as he was fixed in the belief that the sex in general requires watching.
Nevertheless, he found himself, at the end of half an hour, standing on the only spot in Charles Street which had any significance for him. It had occurred to him that if he couldn't call upon Verena without calling upon Olive, he should be exempt from that condition if he called upon Mrs. Tarrant. It was not her mother, truly, who had asked him, it was the girl herself; and he was conscious, as a candid young American, that a mother is always less accessible, more guarded by social prejudice, than a daughter. But he was at a pass in which it was permissible to strain a point, and he took his way in the direction in which he knew that Cambridge lay, remembering that Miss Tarrant's invitation had reference to that quarter and that Mrs. Luna had given him further evidence. Had she not said that Verena often went back there for visits of several days—that her mother had been ill and she gave her much care? There was nothing inconceivable in her being engaged at that hour (it was getting to be one o'clock), in one of those expeditions—nothing impossible in the chance that he might find her in Cambridge. The chance, at any rate, was worth taking; Cambridge, moreover, was worth seeing, and it was as good a way as another of keeping his holiday. It occurred to him, indeed, that Cambridge was a big place, and that he had no particular address. This reflection overtook him just as he reached Olive's house, which, oddly enough, he was obliged to pass on his way to the mysterious suburb. That is partly why he paused there; he asked himself for a moment why he shouldn't ring the bell and obtain his needed information from the servant, who would be sure to be able to give it to him. He had just dismissed this method, as of questionable taste, when he heard the door of the house open, within the deep embrasure in which, in Charles Street, the main portals are set, and which are partly occupied by a flight of steps protected at the bottom by a second door, whose upper half, in either wing, consists of a sheet of glass. It was a minute before he could see who had come out, and in that minute he had time to turn away and then to turn back again, and to wonder which of the two inmates would appear to him, or whether he should behold neither or both.
The person who had issued from the house descended the steps very slowly, as if on purpose to give him time to escape; and when at last the glass doors were divided they disclosed a little old lady. Ransom was disappointed; such an apparition was so scantily to his purpose. But the next minute his spirits rose again, for he was sure that he had seen the little old lady before. She stopped on the side-walk, and looked vaguely about her, in the manner of a person waiting for an omnibus or a street-car; she had a dingy, loosely-habited air, as if she had worn her clothes for many years and yet was even now imperfectly acquainted with them; a large, benignant face, caged in by the glass of her spectacles, which seemed to cover it almost equally everywhere, and a fat, rusty satchel, which hung low at her side, as if it wearied her to carry it. This gave Ransom time to recognise her; he knew in Boston no such figure as that save Miss Birdseye. Her party, her person, the exalted account Miss Chancellor gave of her, had kept a very distinct place in his mind; and while she stood there in dim circumspection she came back to him as a friend of yesterday. His necessity gave a point to the reminiscences she evoked; it took him only a moment to reflect that she would be able to tell him where Verena Tarrant was at that particular time, and where, if need be, her parents lived. Her eyes rested on him, and as she saw that he was looking at her she didn't go through the ceremony (she had broken so completely with all conventions), of removing them; he evidently represented nothing to her but a sentient fellow-citizen in the enjoyment of his rights, which included that of staring. Miss Birdseye's modesty had never pretended that it was not to be publicly challenged; there were so many bright new motives and ideas in the world that there might even be reasons for looking at her. When Ransom approached her and, raising his hat with a smile, said, 'Shall I stop this car for you, Miss Birdseye?' she only looked at him more vaguely, in her complete failure to seize the idea that this might be simply Fame. She had trudged about the streets of Boston for fifty years, and at no period had she received that amount of attention from dark-eyed young men. She glanced, in an unprejudiced way, at the big parti-coloured human van which now jingled toward them from out of the Cambridge road. 'Well, I should like to get into it, if it will take me home,' she answered. 'Is this a South End car?'
The vehicle had been stopped by the conductor, on his perceiving Miss Birdseye; he evidently recognised her as a frequent passenger. He went, however, through none of the forms of reassurance beyond remarking, 'You want to get right in here—quick,' but stood with his hand raised, in a threatening way, to the cord of his signal-bell.
'You must allow me the honour of taking you home, madam; I will tell you who I am,' Basil Ransom said, in obedience to a rapid reflection. He helped her into the car, the conductor pressed a fraternal hand upon her back, and in a moment the young man was seated beside her, and the jingling had recommenced. At that hour of the day the car was almost empty, and they had it virtually to themselves.
'Well, I know you are some one; I don't think you belong round here,' Miss Birdseye declared, as they proceeded.
'I was once at your house—on a very interesting occasion. Do you remember a party you gave, a year ago last October, to which Miss Chancellor came, and another young lady, who made a wonderful speech?'
'Oh yes! when Verena Tarrant moved us all so! There were a good many there; I don't remember all.'
'I was one of them,' Basil Ransom said; 'I came with Miss Chancellor, who is a kind of relation of mine, and you were very good to me.'
'What did I do?' asked Miss Birdseye, candidly. Then, before he could answer her, she recognised him. 'I remember you now, and Olive bringing you! You're a Southern gentleman—she told me about you afterwards. You don't approve of our great struggle—you want us to be kept down.' The old lady spoke with perfect mildness, as if she had long ago done with passion and resentment. Then she added, 'Well, I presume we can't have the sympathy of all.
'Doesn't it look as if you had my sympathy, when I get into a car on purpose to see you home—one of the principal agitators?' Ransom inquired, laughing.
'Did you get in on purpose?'
'Quite on purpose. I am not so bad as Miss Chancellor thinks me.'
'Oh, I presume you have your ideas,' said Miss Birdseye. 'Of course, Southerners have peculiar views. I suppose they retain more than one might think. I hope you won't ride too far—I know my way round Boston.'
'Don't object to me, or think me officious,' Ransom replied. 'I want to ask you something.'
Miss Birdseye looked at him again. 'Oh yes, I place you now; you conversed some with Doctor Prance.'
'To my great edification!' Ransom exclaimed. 'And I hope Doctor Prance is well.'
'She looks after every one's health but her own,' said Miss Birdseye, smiling. 'When I tell her that, she says she hasn't got any to look after. She says she's the only woman in Boston that hasn't got a doctor. She was determined she wouldn't be a patient, and it seemed as if the only way not to be one was to be a doctor. She is trying to make me sleep; that's her principal occupation.'
'Is it possible you don't sleep yet?' Ransom asked, almost tenderly.
'Well, just a little. But by the time I get to sleep I have to get up. I can't sleep when I want to live.'
'You ought to come down South,' the young man suggested. 'In that languid air you would doze deliriously!'
'Well, I don't want to be languid,' said Miss Birdseye. 'Besides, I have been down South, in the old times, and I can't say they let me sleep very much; they were always round after me!'
'Do you mean on account of the negroes?'
'Yes, I couldn't think of anything else then. I carried them the Bible.'
Ransom was silent a moment; then he said, in a tone which evidently was carefully considerate, 'I should like to hear all about that!'
'Well, fortunately, we are not required now; we are required for something else.' And Miss Birdseye looked at him with a wandering, tentative humour, as if he would know what she meant.
'You mean for the other slaves!' he exclaimed, with a laugh. 'You can carry them all the Bibles you want.'
'I want to carry them the Statute-book; that must be our Bible now.'
Ransom found himself liking Miss Birdseye very much, and it was quite without hypocrisy or a tinge too much of the local quality in his speech that he said: 'Wherever you go, madam, it will matter little what you carry. You will always carry your goodness.'
For a minute she made no response. Then she murmured: 'That's the way Olive Chancellor told me you talked.'
'I am afraid she has told you little good of me.'
'Well, I am sure she thinks she is right.'
'Thinks it?' said Ransom. 'Why, she knows it, with supreme certainty! By the way, I hope she is well.'
Miss Birdseye stared again. 'Haven't you seen her? Are you not visiting?'
'Oh no, I am not visiting! I was literally passing her house when I met you.'
'Perhaps you live here now,' said Miss Birdseye. And when he had corrected this impression, she added, in a tone which showed with what positive confidence he had now inspired her, 'Hadn't you better drop in?'
'It would give Miss Chancellor no pleasure,' Basil Ransom rejoined. 'She regards me as an enemy in the camp.'
'Well, she is very brave.'
'Precisely. And I am very timid.'
'Didn't you fight once?'
'Yes; but it was in such a good cause!'
Ransom meant this allusion to the great Secession and, by comparison, to the attitude of the resisting male (laudable even as that might be), to be decently jocular; but Miss Birdseye took it very seriously, and sat there for a good while as speechless as if she meant to convey that she had been going on too long now to be able to discuss the propriety of the late rebellion. The young man felt that he had silenced her, and he was very sorry; for, with all deference to the disinterested Southern attitude toward the unprotected female, what he had got into the car with her for was precisely to make her talk. He had wished for general, as well as for particular, news of Verena Tarrant; it was a topic on which he had proposed to draw Miss Birdseye out. He preferred not to broach it himself, and he waited awhile for another opening. At last, when he was on the point of exposing himself by a direct inquiry (he reflected that the exposure would in any case not be long averted), she anticipated him by saying, in a manner which showed that her thoughts had continued in the same train, 'I wonder very much that Miss Tarrant didn't affect you that evening!'
'Ah, but she did!' Ransom said, with alacrity. 'I thought her very charming!'
'Didn't you think her very reasonable?'
'God forbid, madam! I consider women have no business to be reasonable.'
His companion turned upon him, slowly and mildly, and each of her glasses, in her aspect of reproach, had the glitter of an enormous tear. 'Do you regard us, then, simply as lovely baubles?'
The effect of this question, as coming from Miss Birdseye, and referring in some degree to her own venerable identity, was such as to move him to irresistible laughter. But he controlled himself quickly enough to say, with genuine expression, 'I regard you as the dearest thing in life, the only thing which makes it worth living!'
'Worth living for—you! But for us?' suggested Miss Birdseye.
'It's worth any woman's while to be admired as I admire you. Miss Tarrant, of whom we were speaking, affected me, as you say, in this way—that I think more highly still, if possible, of the sex which produced such a delightful young lady.'
'Well, we think everything of her here,' said Miss Birdseye. 'It seems as if it were a real gift.'
'Does she speak often—is there any chance of my hearing her now?'
'She raises her voice a good deal in the places round like Framingham and Billerica. It seems as if she were gathering strength, just to break over Boston like a wave. In fact she did break, last summer. She is a growing power since her great success at the convention.'
'Ah! her success at the convention was very great?' Ransom inquired, putting discretion into his voice.
Miss Birdseye hesitated a moment, in order to measure her response by the bounds of righteousness. 'Well,' she said, with the tenderness of a long retrospect, 'I have seen nothing like it since I last listened to Eliza P. Moseley.'
'What a pity she isn't speaking somewhere to-night!' Ransom exclaimed.
'Oh, to-night she's out in Cambridge. Olive Chancellor mentioned that.'
'Is she making a speech there?'
'No; she's visiting her home.'
'I thought her home was in Charles Street?'
'Well, no; that's her residence—her principal one—since she became so united to your cousin. Isn't Miss Chancellor your cousin?'
'We don't insist on the relationship,' said Ransom, smiling. 'Are they very much united, the two young ladies?'
'You would say so if you were to see Miss Chancellor when Verena rises to eloquence. It's as if the chords were strung across her own heart; she seems to vibrate, to echo with every word. It's a very close and very beautiful tie, and we think everything of it here. They will work together for a great good!'
'I hope so,' Ransom remarked. 'But in spite of it Miss Tarrant spends a part of her time with her father and mother.'
'Yes, she seems to have something for every one. If you were to see her at home, you would think she was all the daughter. She leads a lovely life!' said Miss Birdseye.
'See her at home? That's exactly what I want!' Ransom rejoined, feeling that if he was to come to this he needn't have had scruples at first. 'I haven't forgotten that she invited me, when I met her.'
'Oh, of course she attracts many visitors,' said Miss Birdseye, limiting her encouragement to this statement.
'Yes; she must be used to admirers. And where, in Cambridge, do her family live?'
'Oh, it's on one of those little streets that don't seem to have very much of a name. But they do call it—they do call it———' she meditated, audibly.
This process was interrupted by an abrupt allocution from the conductor. 'I guess you change here for your place. You want one of them blue cars.'
The good lady returned to a sense of the situation, and Ransom helped her out of the vehicle, with the aid, as before, of a certain amount of propulsion from the conductor. Her road branched off to the right, and she had to wait on the corner of a street, there being as yet no blue car within hail. The corner was quiet and the day favourable to patience—a day of relaxed rigour and intense brilliancy. It was as if the touch of the air itself were gloved, and the street -colouring had the richness of a superficial thaw. Ransom, of course, waited with his philanthropic companion, though she now protested more vigorously against the idea that a gentleman from the South should pretend to teach an old abolitionist the mysteries of Boston. He promised to leave her when he should have consigned her to the blue car; and meanwhile they stood in the sun, with their backs against an apothecary's window, and she tried again, at his suggestion, to remember the name of Doctor Tarrant's street. 'I guess if you ask for Doctor Tarrant, any one can tell you,' she said; and then suddenly the address came to her—the residence of the mesmeric healer was in Monadnoc Place.
'But you'll have to ask for that, so it comes to the same,' she went on. After this she added, with a friendliness more personal, 'Ain't you going to see your cousin too?'
'Not if I can help it!'
Miss Birdseye gave a little ineffectual sigh. 'Well, I suppose every one must act out their ideal. That's what Olive Chancellor does. She's a very noble character.'
'Oh yes, a glorious nature.'
'You know their opinions are just the same—hers and Verena's,' Miss Birdseye placidly continued. 'So why should you make a distinction?'
'My dear madam,' said Ransom, 'does a woman consist of nothing but her opinions? I like Miss Tarrant's lovely face better, to begin with.'
'Well, she is pretty-looking.' And Miss Birdseye gave another sigh, as if she had had a theory submitted to her—that one about a lady's opinions—which, with all that was unfamiliar and peculiar lying behind it, she was really too old to look into much. It might have been the first time she really felt her age. 'There's a blue car,' she said, in a tone of mild relief.
'It will be some moments before it gets here. Moreover, I don't believe that at bottom they are Miss Tarrant's opinions,' Ransom added.
'You mustn't think she hasn't a strong hold of them,' his companion exclaimed, more briskly. 'If you think she is not sincere, you are very much mistaken. Those views are just her life.'
'Well, she may bring me round to them,' said Ransom, smiling.
Miss Birdseye had been watching her blue car, the advance of which was temporarily obstructed. At this, she transferred her eyes to him, gazing at him solemnly out of the pervasive window of her spectacles. 'Well, I shouldn't wonder if she did! Yes, that will be a good thing. I don't see how you can help being a good deal shaken by her. She has acted on so many.'
'I see; no doubt she will act on me.' Then it occurred to Ransom to add: 'By the way, Miss Birdseye, perhaps you will be so kind as not to mention this meeting of ours to my cousin, in case of your seeing her again. I have a perfectly good conscience in not calling upon her, but I shouldn't like her to think that I announced my slighting intention all over the town. I don't want to offend her, and she had better not know that I have been in Boston. If you don't tell her, no one else will.'
'Do you wish me to conceal———?' murmured Miss Birdseye, panting a little.
'No, I don't want you to conceal anything. I only want you to let this incident pass—to say nothing.'
'Well, I never did anything of that kind.'
'Of what kind?' Ransom was half vexed, half touched by her inability to enter into his point of view, and her resistance made him hold to his idea the more. 'It is very simple, what I ask of you. You are under no obligation to tell Miss Chancellor everything that happens to you, are you?'
His request seemed still something of a shock to the poor old lady's candour. 'Well, I see her very often, and we talk a great deal. And then—won't Verena tell her?'
'I have thought of that—but I hope not.'
'She tells her most everything. Their union is so close.'
'She won't want her to be wounded,' Ransom said, ingeniously.
'Well, you are considerate.' And Miss Birdseye continued to gaze at him. 'It's a pity you can't sympathise.'
'As I tell you, perhaps Miss Tarrant will bring me round. You have before you a possible convert,' Ransom went on, without, I fear, putting up the least little prayer to heaven that his dishonesty might be forgiven.
'I should be very happy to think that—after I have told you her address in this secret way.' A smile of infinite mildness glimmered in Miss Birdseye's face, and she added: 'Well, I guess that will be your fate. She has affected so many. I would keep very quiet if I thought that. Yes, she will bring you round.'
'I will let you know as soon as she does,' Basil Ransom said. 'Here is your car at last.'
'Well, I believe in the victory of the truth. I won't say anything.' And she suffered the young man to lead her to the car, which had now stopped at their corner.
'I hope very much I shall see you again,' he remarked, as they went.
'Well, I am always round the streets, in Boston.' And while, lifting and pushing, he was helping again to insert her into the oblong receptacle, she turned a little and repeated, 'She will affect you! If that's to be your secret, I will keep it,' Ransom heard her subjoin. He raised his hat and waved her a farewell, but she didn't see him; she was squeezing further into the car and making the discovery that this time it was full and there was no seat for her. Surely, however, he said to himself, every man in the place would offer his own to such an innocent old dear. | English | NL | 78c2eb02fae78757c1538db9d725da721481bd201a3521518a21d0551ba77825 |
Dewey School Continued
My last column was a trip down memory land as I mentioned some of the interesting facts about Dewey Elementary School that I attended from grade one through grade eight. Dewey School was typical of the many schools that dotted the countryside in the early days of Johnson County’s attempts to educate its children and youth. It was a two-teacher school with one of the teachers acting as principal who also taught grades five through eight. The other teacher taught grades one through four.
I remember most, if not all, of my elementary school teachers. I was blessed to have John A. Shoun, Mark Reece, R. Clyde Wilson and a Mrs. Robinson as my fifth through eighth grade teachers. A long-time teacher for the lower grades at Dewey was Mrs. Rena Shoun. I’m sure many of the readers of this column will remember her. Mrs. Alta Loyd was also one of my teachers. She was the only teacher that I remember that gave me several smacks with a ruler on the palm of my hand for a minor infraction. Back then there was a 30-minute break for lunch. There was a 15-minute break in the morning and a 15-minute break in the afternoon. Of course we students looked forward to those times of fun and games. I remember how excited we were when Ray Shoun and another gentleman came and erected two basketball goals in a level area in a corner of the school grounds.
After the hot lunch program was started, the meals were prepared in a small kitchen that was a part of the building. Lunch was served at the students’ desks. I believe the desks are popular collector’s items these days. The lower part of the desks was used to store books. Of course, there was a place to sit. The writing board had a place for pens and pencils. There was an inkwell on each desk. For why, I do not know. The era of the quill and fountain pen had long passed.
Anyway, Dewey Elementary School was typical of the type of schools that made up the educational system of Johnson County during my grade school days. As I mentioned in the beginning of this column, now, we have the beautiful buildings that came about as a result of consolidation. | English | NL | fc621f28b0768d13c6cd9f6214e1589bde8527784291e23fefbe17bc1199eae1 |
THANK YOU TO YOUTUBE FOR MAKEING IT POSSIBLE FOR SHAREING SOUTH AFRICAN MUSIC
YOU CAN FIND MORE SOUTH AFRICAN MUSIC TO SHARE WITH FRIENDS ON THE YOUTUBE VIDEOS BELOW
JUST CLICK ON YOUTUBE VIDEOS FOR MORE MUSIC:
Bles Bridges(22 July 1947 – 24 March 2000). He was born Lawrence John Gabriel Bridges, but became known as Bles Bridges. His Irish granddad called him Bles, because he has very thin hair from an early age. He was a much loved South African singer.
He released his first album in 1982, Onbekende Weermagman (Unknown Soldier). His professional career began in 1984, with the release of his second album, BLES which went gold in under a month (25,000 copies) and included Maggie, one of his most loved songs. It sold twice that by the time his third album was released. At the time of his death, he sold more than one and a half million albums (records and CDs'.
Soon Bles Bridges began alternating between an Afrikaans and English language album, to great acclaim. He also began working with Eurovision South Africa. In 2000, he began recording an album with Patricia Lewis. Their first song (and last song as it turned out, as he died within a week of finishing the song) was "The First Kiss Goodnight" by Dennis East; it was recorded on March 21, 2000.
In the 1980s he held a concert in support of the AWB Volkhulpskema (People's Help Scheme) which raised 10,000 Rand (he was there as an artist, not by personal belief).
He had cancer during the eighties and gave mildly to charity after his recovery, for cancer research etc.
His wife, Leonie was his soundengineer and the composer and/or songwriter of most of his songs, including most of his biggest hits, including "MAGGIE" and "I AM THE EAGLE, YOU'RE THE WIND" among others.
His biggest hit was "Ruiter van die Windjie" (Rider of the Wind) which was released in 1986.
He loved life and roses, and he gave roses to the front audience members (women) at all his concerts.
His career highlight was when he performed to a soldout "SUPERBOWL" at SUN CITY, becoming the first Afrikaans artist to do so, as feature artist on 14 and 15 May 1987. In fact he drew a bigger crowd than Frank Sinatra did when he opened the "Superbowl" in 1982.
Bles died in a motorcar accident on 24 March 2000. He left his wife, Leonie and children Sunette and Victor behind. More than 7000 mourners turned up for his funeral to bid Bles farewell.
Leon Ernest "Schuks" Schuster (born May 21, 1951) is a South African filmmaker, comedian, actor, presenter and singer.
Schuster was drawn to the filmmaking process at an early age. As children he and his brother would play practical jokes on his family and film these with an old home movie camera.
Schuster studied for a BA degree at the University of the Orange Free State and spent two years teaching at a high school in Bloemfontein.
Schuster was drawn to the filmmaking process at an early age. As children he and his brother would play practical jokes on his family and film these with an old home movie camera.Schuster studied for a BA degree at the University of the Orange Free State and spent two years teaching at a high school in Bloemfontein.
Schuster began working for the South African Broadcasting Corporation in 1975. During his time at the SABC, Leon created the Afrikaans radio series Vrypostige Mikrofoon with Fanus Rautenbach– where he would disguise his voice and take the mickey out of unsuspecting victims.
In 1982, Leon was approached by Decibel Records to compile a series of sports songs and his first record, Leon Schuster sold 100,000 units. His second album Broekskeur sold in excess of 40,000 units and this was followed by Briekdans and Leon Schuster – 20 Treffers which sold in excess of 270,000 copies. His hit CD Hier Kom Die Bokke garnered an FNB Sama Music Award for Biggest Selling CD of 1995. His following CD, Gatvol in Paradise, sold in more than 125,000 units and gave rise to the unofficial Gauteng anthem, Gautengeling.
Schuster's first feature, You Must Be Joking! produced in collaboration with Johan Scholtz and Elmo de Witt became popular with South African audiences and it gave rise to the sequel You Must be Joking! Too.These films were candid camera sketches and Schuster made many more of these films as well as slap-stick films, the most notable of which was Mr Bones. The film emerged as the most successful Schuster film of all time, earning more that R33 million at the South African box office.
Kurt Darren was born in Pretoria and matriculated from the Lyttleton Manor High School. He inherited his amazing singing talent from his mother. At school he participated in various musical plays and says that he has been interested in music for as long as he can remember.
What few people don't know about Kurt is that he is fluent in both Afrikaans and English, this is because of his bilingual upbringing (his father is Afrikaans and his mother is English). His capability to write songs and sing in both languages and to entertain his bilingual audiences is astonishing.
Kurt went to the Army after he matriculated and did his basic training in Walvisbay. During his time in the army, he joined the army's entertainment group and toured with them for a year; he then started to realise that he wanted to pursue his life long dream of becoming a singer. He was discouraged by many people saying that he cannot make a living out of singing.
Kurt then tried a couple of other occupations, which included acting as a tourguide in the Kruger National Park (nature lies very close to Kurts' heart). With some of Kurts' family members in the building industry, he then also tried his hand at that, but not for long. He finally decided that he was going to sing on a full time basis.
Kurt sang ballads for thirteen years, motionless on a chair, with a microphone in his hand, at many corporate functions, bars and small venues across South Africa. He drove from one city to the next, loading and unloading his speakers by himself, he also had to set up and do his own sound. Kurt is proud to say that he has been part of a couple of "groups" during his singing career, some of these include: "Deep Blue" and "Keep Your Day Job".
He always knew that his big breakthrough would come someday. He then performed on a luxury cruiseliner for three months, lost a couple of kilograms and cut his hair (for those who don't know, Kurt wore his hair at shoulder length for quite some time). He was now ready and full of energy for the recording of "Meisie Meisie" in 2002, and the fame that soon followed.
Nowadays Kurt tours right across South Africa, and even abroad, on a growing basis.
His first album "For Your Precious Love" was released in 1995. Kurt then had the great fortune to release all the following Albums, which are listed in chronological order:
• 1997 - "Kurt Darren".
• 1998 - "Just When I Needed You Most".
• 1999 - "Since I Found You".
• 2001 - "Net Jy Alleen". • 2002 - "Meisie Meisie".
* Kurts' breakthrough into the Afrikaans music industry came with "Meisie Meisie". The "Meisie Meisie" album includes various hit songs and still has people filling dancefloors. "Meisie Meisie" was one of the Top3 hits of 2002 and has achieved Double Platinum status. It was during the planning and recording of this album that Kurt started writing lyrics with two inspiring and very talented people: Don Kelly and Marc Brendon. This trio have been complimenting each others' songwriting skills ever since.
• 2003 - "Se Net Ja".
• 2004 - "Staan Op".
• 2005 - "Vat My, Maak My Joune".
• 2006 - "Lekker Lekker".
• 2007 - "Voorwaarts Mars".
• 2008 - "Uit Die Diepte Van My Hart".
His dream has been realised as a singer. With almost a dozen solo albums, his voice also compliments many compiled CD's.
For seven consecutive albums, Kurt has been experiencing the wave of success. He lives to entertain with his musical talent, and plans to stay in this industry for a long time to come. He has an everlasting passion for music and wants to share his Godgiven gift with each and every person.
INFORMATION ABOUT KURT
Birthday: 19 February | English | NL | b3aa30a2f17d45431427db4da2764f8952c3b375490c97cff7189bc9dc792b22 |
An older former gunman, that has warrants still out for his arrest, is attacked by a bear. The injures are serious and the gunman, Bodie Tatum, only is given about a week to live by Doc Adams.
We now learn that Bodie, who is now living with an Indian woman and they have a child together, had abandoned his family years ago. Leaving his three daughters with his wife. His wife had dies but he sent for his three daughter to come and visit him. We learn that he has three different type daughter, one was a hard working and looking woman, one was a young social type person and the other was a saloon girl.
His dying wishes is to make amends with his daughter and to be buried by his wife in Spearville. After some uncomfortable moments, the daughters decide to honor their father wish and take him to Spearville to be buried. But this would prove difficult as most of Spearville remember the gunman and what no part of him returning to their town. The Sheriff of Spearville will do all he can to stop the wagon that is occupied by Bodie Tatum. So with warrant still on Bodie, Marshal Dillon will make the trip with Bodie and the daughters.
Gene Evans does a nice job of playing the dying man that finally comes to grip with his daughters. The writers did a nice job of having each daughter come from different backgrounds which lead to more interest in the story. However there was little action during most of the show and a lot of routine dialog. An average show with average results.
4 of 7 people found this review helpful.
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