One old man...

“...an old man in the days of Saul...” (1Sa 17:12)

I don't know why these passages about old men grab my attention more lately.

Jesse: grandson of Boaz and Ruth, father of eight sons, the youngest being David.

Old, but not useless. God still intends to bless Jesse; God still expects obedience from Jesse. Samuel calls him to a sacrifice... "oh, and bring your sons."

Corrections...

I haven't been writing because I had a sore throat. Sounds lame, I know. I'm feeling great today. So great, in fact, that now I want to fake an illness about once a month to score some more cortisone shots.

I hate it when people distort historical facts. So, I need to clean up my mess before I move on.

One Hundred and Ten Considerations...

"A good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life."  -Milton's Aeropagitica.

I have just a couple of books that might qualify as rare. This is one of them...

"Life and Writings of Juan de Valdes" by Benjamin B. Wiffen. The collaboration between Mr. Wiffen and Don Luis Usóz i Rio in the 19th century to resurrect the lives and writings of 16th century Spanish Reformers is nothing short of an academic marvel. That and Eduard Boehmer's efforts following their demise to finish and achieve the publication of their larger work constitute a lesser known microcosm of Christian history.

Why do we linger?

This one is personal.

It should also be short. I am asking a question that I can't answer.

We tend to lose perspective when certain things befall us. We start with, "why me?" But when we look around a bit, the question becomes, "why not?"

HEAT...

I hate the heat. Always have. Don't know why tourists pick Cancun this time of year. It's miserable. Most of my adult life in this climate, and my body is still wired for northern Wisconsin subzero winters. After a walk, even the sweat-drenched shoes go in the wash.

Heat irritates me, oppresses, exhausts, incites… makes me impatient, impulsive. Reminds me of Albert Camus's, "The Stranger".

The sun was starting to burn my cheeks, and I could feel drops of sweat gathering in my eyebrows. That sun was the same as it had been the day I’d buried Maman, and like then, my forehead especially was hurting me, all the veins in it throbbing under the sun. It was this burning, which I couldn’t stand anymore, that made me move forward. I knew that it was stupid, that I wouldn’t get the sun off me by stepping forward. (1.6.24)

So he blamed the heat, too. It was one of the factors in the inevitability of the killing. And of course, "stepping forward" with it brought no relief.

God's avant-garde…

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things [are] honest, whatsoever things [are] just, whatsoever things [are] pure, whatsoever things [are] lovely, whatsoever things [are] of good report; if [there be] any virtue, and if [there be] any praise, think on these things.” (Php 4:8)

This was intended to be an "Early Morning Thought" on things to think on in Php 4:8, stemming from a superb read over summer vacation. In spite of the painful process of redaction, it is still too long for that. Often, when reading Jonathan Edwards, I have to re-read paragraphs a few times to sort of get a handle on them, but it has always been worth the effort. Such is the case with the second, longer quote below.

Tales from the abyss...

It is a short walk to psychopathy. The potential for it might be there in all of us.

Did I just have a conversation with someone? I think not. I felt it in what was left unsaid, by the chasm between the facade and the inner reality... thoughts that assume a given or beg a conclusion left hanging, unexplained... surface noise that is not connecting with the person inside... chatter from across the abyss... a monologue from a deserted soul... covering fire laid down to mask real behavior.