Sometimes

Sometimes darkness enfolds so gradually you didn’t notice it grew. It holds things you’re not sure exist and, if they do, you’re sure you don’t want to encounter. You squint, then once more to secure vision that will not come. It is a dark far blacker than you realized as you lived your life unconsciously, uncaringly, unknowingly. Tyranny is a terrible word because it is a horrific reality. For some. You are startled at the possibility it could be for you. But this is the time, dear friends, right here and now, that we must be brave. We must stand firm. We cannot wait for someone to do for us what we must do for ourselves and for each other. Now is not the time for sleep. It is not the time for distraction or dreaming. It is the time to stand in whatever way you find to do so. And, after having done all, stand.

Sometimes darkness enfolds so gradually,

You didn’t notice it grew;

Until you find you must squint to see

In a dark more stark than you knew.

Startled, you frown as you look around

Trying to see in the fog

And wonder just what’s behind the shadow,

Noise, or impressionist bog.

 

 

 

 

 

 

We wander, my friend, to an uncertain end

With unsteady step as we go;

When hope is desire and desire is claimed

By forces unseen and unknown.

But onward we press. We must – with brave hearts –

Because if we don’t, who will?

One thing we know as we travel below:

Duty, honor, country must prevail.

Scripture: Ephesians 6:13; Images: pexels-photo 348392.jpeg;URLhttpmedia.photobucket.comuseralex1988_photosmediacrows.jpg.jpg; log-cabin-pexels-photo-259571.jpeg; [URL=httpmedia.photobucket.comuseralex1988_photosmediacrows.jpg; unsplash-jorgen-hendriksen-uCPQi2dxKAQ-unsplash.jpg; http-pixabay.com-en-eagle-america-flag-bird-symbol-219679.jpg

It Couldn’t Be Done

Somebody said it couldn’t be done,
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t”, but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so until he had tried.

So he buckled right in with a trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done and he did it.

 

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it”;
But he took off his coat and took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

 

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start to sing as you tackle the thing,
That “cannot be done” and you’ll do it.

—Edgar A. Guest

Philippians 4:13 Wallpapers - Wallpaper Cave

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It Can Be Found

My story is about a natural love lost, then found; of hesitancy and regret; and of the kindness of time. In that sense, it is a story about us all.

Claire had known Knox since kindergarten. They were best friends then, playing together, choosing each other for coloring partners, and hanging their coats side by side. But as often happens during growing up years, they grew apart. They exchanged shy smiles in school hallways, attended sports events and concerts where they sat close enough to glance but not to speak, even attended the same parties where they might begin a conversation which interruption prevented them from finishing. Never a goodbye. Only a studied, unnoticed look or furtive glance. Graduation sealed their separation, a way-parting that left each feeling a little empty, though introspection skirted around the possibility of the childhood affection being the cause of it.

Five years is a long time, but then again, not that long.

“Claire?”

Her heart beat quickened slightly as she turned. “Knox! Is that you? What are you doing back in town? Last I heard . . . not that I . . . I mean . . .”

“I’m back for an interview in Cartersville tomorrow morning.”

“Cartersville!’

He nodded and they stood, each trying to think of something to fill up the space between them. In between stutters and false starts, they agreed to meet for supper that evening. But it didn’t happen. Claire’s father had a heart attack and she was called away.

Twenty-five years is a long time, but then again, not that long. Knox grabbed the nurse’s notes as he walked into the hospital room of a new patient, then stopped in his tracks.

Claire shrugged.

Knox cleared his throat and studied the notes in his hand.

“How is your foot feeling?”

Claire grimaced, then began laughing – a good alternative to crying. And he laughed with her until they both had to wipe tears away. Small talk distracted from pressure on bruised skin, and they caught up on unimportant matters.

And every so often they would see each other – through life’s stages, marriage, children, gain and loss. And they might speak, but something always interfered and finally ended the conversation.

Forty years is a long time, but then again, not that long. It was at a large party of old friends, they once more found each other: uncoupled by death, living lives as fully as they could muster. Those forty years and their accompanying experiences and lessons did what Claire and Knox could not manage on their own. In a finger snap the familiar hesitancies fell away. The stutters. The shyness. The putting up with interference. They were friends again; the kind whose ideas piqued the other’s curiosity, who found the same things amusing, and whose intuition told them what words do not.

And they were right.

Dear friends, lose not the simplicity of first friendships though time’s waves push them far. Put away self-consciousness long enough to speak truly and listen thoughtfully. For love, once lost, does not need to be lost forever. It can be found, though space and time shout otherwise. It can be found.

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Our Duty

https://animoto.com/play/m0tQNvQuabaGzyWa1xJ1Ug

Videbimus

It was one of those unclear days. Not the kind of unclear that the whole world seems to be living in lately. Not that. But – you know – the kind when fog descends so thickly that you might as well put on a helmet along with your jacket before you walk out the door because you’re bound to run into something sooner or later; unless, of course, you’re an animal with eyeshine. But I had to go to the grocery store. My cat, Videbimus, Wedee for short, hadn’t stopped yowling since early morning and wouldn’t just eat the can of tuna I’d offered earlier. I should’ve bought a dog. I hear they eat anything including crayons and socks. But Wedee was the leftover kitten from a friend’s cat and needed a home, so in a moment of I can’t believe what I just did, I said I’d take her. She was a cuddly thing and, as cats go, was pretty ordinary other than her propensity to bite me. Oh I know. Cats do that when they’re feeling affectionate. But when Wedee did it, it was more like she was completing a homework assignment. She’d saunter over to me after supper, jump up onto my lap, and start her evening ritual of tiny little bites; sometimes my arms, sometimes my legs or feet, and sometimes even my neck and head. Weird, I know, but by that time of day I’m usually a lump of tiredness, so she got away with it. Sometimes I wondered if she really did think it was her duty and if she would ever think she’d accomplished the homework she had assigned herself each evening. After she was done, she’d snuggle in as though she’d not just sent little cat saliva coursing through my veins. That was six years ago and since then Wedee had pretty much determined my schedule, including, apparently, grocery store runs in dense fog.

I was on my way back when a faint light shone in the distance. I couldn’t tell how near or far. It was just there. I slowed my car, thinking to avoid spending money I didn’t have at the auto shop. It suddenly burst so brightly on my windshield I cringed and slammed on the brakes, waiting for the crunching sound to come. It didn’t.

It was foolish, I know, but I pulled over and walked back to the approximate location of the light, now gone. Nothing. I walked in a zigzagging circle, but neither stumbled upon, heard, nor (of course) saw anything. I slid back into the car, pulled back onto the road as well as I could, and started for home. The fog had lifted slightly, though I passed a car that still crept along as though no one could see an inch in front of them. We could, but the driver must have been one of those extra careful types; the type of person who checks their locks twice and wears Vicks to bed rain or shine. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

I hauled Wedee’s dinner into my crackerbox house, scooped out a serving which Wedee sniffed, then devoured like she’d been starved for a week, and I tugged off my jacket. Ugh. Something fell onto my arm. I seemed to have acquired a hitchhiker in the dewy fog. A little lightning bug spread its wings, then began to crawl. I shook it off, and it flew to a corner of the room.

After I’d made myself a huge tuna sandwich, I grabbed the TV remote, switched on the nightly news, and awaited Wedee to saunter over for her evening ritual. The news seemed more ridiculous than usual, and I shut it off and grabbed a book instead. And Wedee jumped up and snuggled. Not one bite. And the lightning bug settled down in the corner with a friendly glow.

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What Is

People use the word faith fairly often: “Keep the faith.” “Faith overcomes fear.” “Faith moves mountains.” “All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.” “Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”

Allow me to add my own thoughts. Perhaps you can add yours, too.

Faith is not losing hope when hope seems lost, rather, it is something that lasts beyond our physical understanding.

It is not dependent upon seeing what is visible, but trusting what we do not see.

It is knowing in our spirit (despite what things look like) what IS.

Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

JM Barrie, Peter Pan; J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring; Hebrews 11:1

In the Middle of the Muddle

If you’ve ever moved, you know the indecision of having a lot to do and not knowing where to begin. Some of you feel this on a regular basis as you stare into space over your morning cup of coffee. We sympathize, but this isn’t that.

We’re moving, alright. The direction just isn’t terribly clear. Over the space of a year, we’ve been confronted with, well, with one confusing decision after another. Among family, friend, or foe we land on the same or opposing sides of these questions, with some of us standing in the middle, our hands over our mouths, turning one way, then another. It’s a nightmare for people who break into hives at even the thought of confrontation. We’re a motley crew, to be sure, and we don’t harmonize that well just now.

We experienced an explosive reaction about the death of a man who was detained in Minneapolis. Everyone has their own opinions about what happened, but we can agree that it started countrywide protests and destruction by two notable groups that continues to this day.

We then experienced what some said was an accident and some say was a bioweapon. Whatever it was, the narrative and reaction generated fear world-wide. Depending on a state’s governing bodies, too many lost their lives through sickness, suicide, or lack of human contact. Many small businesses – businesses run by everyday people who worked hard, sacrificed their money and time, and pursued their dreams – were driven to closure. States and nations encountered economic troubles as people lost jobs and a way to provide for themselves.

We faced an unusual Presidential election in which the frontrunner had a seemingly landslide-like lead, some states stopped counting votes late at night and the nation found that in the morning election results had flipped to opposite of what they had been. This last and most recent trouble has led many to believe our free country has fallen to communism through a color revolution.

Fact and rumor are being tossed around like the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz and they’re just as scary. We face a flood of information the truthfulness of which is difficult to determine. Some people say Q was a psyop to lull people into complacency, others believe it was a military op to wake people up. More recently, some people are claiming our nation’s history includes the Act of 1871 which should peel the skin off your teeth if you believe it. If you’ve read Agenda 2021 from those darling people who meet at Davos, you’ve already found a cave in the middle of nowhere and measured it for drapes.

And in the middle of all this are the people who say we’re so close to the rapture, you’d better have the “What to do if you miss the rapture” letter sitting out where some unfortunate soul can see it if you twinkling of an eye out of here. You think I’m kidding? You’ll find it in the citations below.

I am hopeful that things are not what they seem just now. I am hopeful that righteous people are doing everything possible to oust communism from our dear country. I have planted my flag and I stand. Even so, should my fervent hope materialize, it is only a matter of time until the unspoken horrors we have been exposed to will come to pass. When they do, the world might not call it The Great Tribulation, but that’s what it will be.

I’ve learned that what I thought was the world being sifted a few years ago was nothing compared to the overdrive sifting we’re witnessing now. Seriously. It’s like being in a food processor where you’d like to stay your happy carrot self, but the cook thinks you’ll be more useful shredded. It’s the kind of sifting that asks not only, “Do you have faith?” but “Do you have faith absent physical proof? In the face of seeming physical proof to the contrary?” This sifting seeks to examine whether we live out our Christian declarations in the face of much controversy and trouble. We can no longer read the Bible and chuckle at the people who couldn’t see prophecy happening right in front of their noses. We no longer have the luxury of taking anything we’ve enjoyed all our lives for granted. We cannot afford to stand in the middle of this mess (especially where our relationship with Jesus is concerned). We have to research and we have to pray and we have to choose.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mötley_Crüe ; election fraud:https://www.dailysignal.com/2020/11/03/us-election-fraud-is-real-and-its-impact-is-being-ignored/; https://cnsnews.com/commentary/hans-von-spakovsky/heres-what-election-fraud-deniers-dont-want-you-know; color revolution: https://www.conservativedailynews.com/2020/09/what-is-a-color-revolution/ ; O,: qanon.pub ; Act of 1871: https://americannationalmilitia.com/the-organic-act-of-1871-with-notes/ ; annavonreitz.com/actof1871pdf ; Agenda 2021: https://www.breitbart.com/politics/2020/12/21/world-economic-forum-digital-davos-2021-to-reveal-great-reset-initiative/ ; https://www.charismanews.com/opinion/64002-what-to-do-if-you-miss-the-rapture; Revelation 6: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation%206&version=KJV

II Chronicles 15:2

https://animoto.com/play/pULpUWe2UDc9CF1b3tEDgg

The Salt and Light Perspective

Salt can make things taste good, but it can also make your dog throw up. And, frankly, any kind of meat doesn’t taste that great (to me) without seasoning of some sort. Maybe that’s why some people don’t like vegetables. They don’t put salt on them. I confess I put garlic salt, tumeric, and olive oil on my salad. Though salting a salad seems counterproductive, it’s not against the law. Yet.

Living in an area where snow and ice aren’t uncommon, I don’t rejoice like people in Texas did this week when I see those little flakes falling. But I am grateful if I see sand or salt being scattered on the roads and sidewalks, because I know then that I’m less likely to slip and fall, crash, or end up in the ditch.

If you’ve ever had a bright light shined smack in your face, you know that it doesn’t help you see. It blinds you. If the person holding the light is a police officer, that blinding light helps you understand that you’re not in charge just then. But if you’re walking somewhere dark, you are very grateful for even a little bit of light. You don’t feel as vulnerable as you did before it appeared. Unless, I suppose, you believe in UFOs.

Salt has a lot of uses. Some people are glad for salt, but maybe, for some, it makes them want to throw up. Light is usually welcome, but not always. And I’m thinking just now that it doesn’t matter how it’s received; only that it’s there. It isn’t meant to be restricted to one thing or area, but every single area. The world, in fact.

This last paragraph is directed to Christians. We sometimes fall into the trap of thinking our faith needs to be present in some places, but stay away from certain areas: Like pornography or trafficking or politics. The world is the world and everything in it. God put us in charge. He uses us in the world and everything in it because that is His intention. He intervenes sometimes, but He doesn’t expect us to stay out of the fray. And if we do and pat ourselves on the back for it, I believe He’ll be shining a blinding light in our faces very soon.

Images: pexels-kaboompics-com-6401-scaled.jpg; pexels-emre-kuzu-4820763.jpg;  Matthew 5:13-18  “You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.

Typing Lessons

Some of you might be amused to learn and some of you remember that there was a high school class called “Typing”. This was back in the day when we learned about the Cold War and wondered how people in communist countries could actually believe what Pravda was selling them. We couldn’t visualize the struggle of nations under the thumb of tyrannical governments. We wondered if it had always been that way or how it became so. We struggled with the picture of empty churches but for a few old women listening to government-approved sermons. We wondered how in the world citizens would accept such a life.

We sat at typewriters with white paper in each cylinder and typed to the cadence of our typing teacher’s voice. F F F space J J J space F space J space F J F J and so on.

We typed sentences that used all of the letters on the keyboard. One such sentence was “The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog.” Not terribly inspiring, I grant you, but helpful in learning where the letters on the keyboard are.

There was another such sentence. This one was inspiring, though we didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”

It’s time to pay attention to it now.

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