My great thesis for this week is:
Pious mercy is a symptom of sin.
I know, it sounds a bit off, right? Pious is good. Mercy is good. Since when do two positives make a negative?
Not in the math books, perhaps. But in real life it does in the case of pious mercy.
I posit that celerity in granting pious mercy is frequently indicative of hidden sin in the life of the grantor.
They "forgive" quickly because they do not wish to be too closely scrutinized themselves. Swept neatly under the rug. Or so they wish. It is the old 'judge not, that you be not judged' crowd.
Most folks won't venture to pray as David did in Psalm 59:5 when he implores God, "Do not be gracious to any who are treacherous in iniquity."
Why not? Is it mean to want the wicked to fail? Our cultural answer is yes, that is mean. The scriptural answer is no, that is righteous.
The remarkable thing is that there are scriptural promises of the righteous being able to laugh at the downfall of the wicked. That must take tremendous depth of maturity. Or else purity.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Flood of 2009
The Stats:
The numbers are in, and for the eight-day period beginning Monday, September 14 and ending Tuesday, September 22, our area recorded in excess of 18 inches of rain. Most of the week had been intermittent showers. When it did shower, the rain fell gently to moderately. The creek had been running about 4" deep before the rains began. By Saturday afternoon it had risen another 3 feet, but was still a full foot below the bank. We had very steady rains from mid-night Saturday through noon on Sunday, and when I checked on Sunday afternoon, the creek had flooded into the usual low areas that get washed out a few days every year. Sunday night was stormy and thundery all night long. By mid-morning on Monday the 21, we had over 18 feet of water in the woods.
The Story:
We have a fairly long trail through our 7-acre woods. It dips and rises and dips again before reaching the creek. After a week of rain, over three-fourths of it was under water. Not only did we have beeches in the glen, we had beaches. This, of course, is far too tempting for young men with a sense of adventure. 'Time to grab the inner tubes and go for a swim!
A flooded wood is not a pond, no matter how much it may look like one. At the bottom of a pond you might find worms, some insect larvae, maybe a mussel, and a lot of mud. The worms like to stay in the mud. At the bottom of a flooded wood, you will find flooded ant hills. The ants do not like to say in a flooded ant mound. So they don't. The ants will swim for their lives!
It turns out that if an ant finds someone swimming through the forest, their little ant brains think, "Oh whee! A resting place!" If an ant does it, I'm not sure if it is still called a beeline. I suppose it would more accurately be an antline. But anyway, that is what they make toward people who take adventuresome swims through the woods.
You may need that information someday. Now you are prepared.
The numbers are in, and for the eight-day period beginning Monday, September 14 and ending Tuesday, September 22, our area recorded in excess of 18 inches of rain. Most of the week had been intermittent showers. When it did shower, the rain fell gently to moderately. The creek had been running about 4" deep before the rains began. By Saturday afternoon it had risen another 3 feet, but was still a full foot below the bank. We had very steady rains from mid-night Saturday through noon on Sunday, and when I checked on Sunday afternoon, the creek had flooded into the usual low areas that get washed out a few days every year. Sunday night was stormy and thundery all night long. By mid-morning on Monday the 21, we had over 18 feet of water in the woods.
The Story:
We have a fairly long trail through our 7-acre woods. It dips and rises and dips again before reaching the creek. After a week of rain, over three-fourths of it was under water. Not only did we have beeches in the glen, we had beaches. This, of course, is far too tempting for young men with a sense of adventure. 'Time to grab the inner tubes and go for a swim!
A flooded wood is not a pond, no matter how much it may look like one. At the bottom of a pond you might find worms, some insect larvae, maybe a mussel, and a lot of mud. The worms like to stay in the mud. At the bottom of a flooded wood, you will find flooded ant hills. The ants do not like to say in a flooded ant mound. So they don't. The ants will swim for their lives!
It turns out that if an ant finds someone swimming through the forest, their little ant brains think, "Oh whee! A resting place!" If an ant does it, I'm not sure if it is still called a beeline. I suppose it would more accurately be an antline. But anyway, that is what they make toward people who take adventuresome swims through the woods.
You may need that information someday. Now you are prepared.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Perseid Meteor Shower
`
Once again, the Perseids have proven themselves to be harbingers of inclement weather. Even during drought conditions of former years they succeeded in drawing an overcastting of diaphanous clouds—except for the year that the date coincided with a near-full moon. That year the wash-out was from light, not water. (FYI - This year's moon is a waning gibbous one.)
Perseids (sometimes Perseides) is a patronymic of Perseus, used to designate his descendants. And Perseus was the Greek champion of mythology, son of Zeus and Danaë. Not with the happiest of childhoods, young Perseus was thrown into a sea chest with his mother and drifted to the island of Seriphos where they were rescued by a fisherman—or maybe not. The old stories do not always agree. As an adult, he was the hero who bagged the head of Medusa. Killing, danger, and high adventure ensued, but eventually he saved and married Andromeda and fathered Perses. Today, the ancient heroes are remembered in the stars, when you can see them.
________________________________________
For more ~ http://www.qsl.net/w8wn/hscw/prop/perseids.html
Once again, the Perseids have proven themselves to be harbingers of inclement weather. Even during drought conditions of former years they succeeded in drawing an overcastting of diaphanous clouds—except for the year that the date coincided with a near-full moon. That year the wash-out was from light, not water. (FYI - This year's moon is a waning gibbous one.)
Perseids (sometimes Perseides) is a patronymic of Perseus, used to designate his descendants. And Perseus was the Greek champion of mythology, son of Zeus and Danaë. Not with the happiest of childhoods, young Perseus was thrown into a sea chest with his mother and drifted to the island of Seriphos where they were rescued by a fisherman—or maybe not. The old stories do not always agree. As an adult, he was the hero who bagged the head of Medusa. Killing, danger, and high adventure ensued, but eventually he saved and married Andromeda and fathered Perses. Today, the ancient heroes are remembered in the stars, when you can see them.
________________________________________
For more ~ http://www.qsl.net/w8wn/hscw/prop/perseids.html
Monday, August 3, 2009
Forum Musings
At one of the online communities I sometimes visit, the question arose, "Why aren't parents protected, or at least given the benefit of the doubt when they believe they are acting in their child's best interests?" It was rhetorical, but what do I care? I have a ready answer.
Parents are not protected because our nation, as a corporate body, has lost her knowledge of God—because many people of the past two generations never obtained such knowledge to begin with.
I have heard social workers, educated people who would be highly offended if you suggested that they were not 'good Christians,' say that the Bible is wrong, that it was written for a primitive tribal culture, and that there are things more important than parental love.
If you believe the scriptures, God is calling them fools. It's all there in Proverbs 1:22, "Scoffers delight themselves in scoffing and fools hate knowledge." The New Testament covers it again in Romans 1:21-32. They just do not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, (except when it builds them up, of course.)
Parents are not respected because parenthood is one of the most God-like roles a human can fulfill. People who have not grown up with knowledge of God do not trust Him. They feel safer trusting public schools and government and the courts.
I am not posting to turn this into a parental rights diatribe, (though admittedly, the previous paragraphs could be framed into a good introduction for one.) Quite the opposite; while reading about societal disrespect for parenthood, I had another revelation. After parenthood, being a judge is another God-like role a human can fulfill. If the Church ever gets her act together and starts preaching sound doctrine on the Judgment of God, then judges won't be respected anymore than parents are. There may be a silver lining to that, but it will be a filmy one.
Parents are not protected because our nation, as a corporate body, has lost her knowledge of God—because many people of the past two generations never obtained such knowledge to begin with.
I have heard social workers, educated people who would be highly offended if you suggested that they were not 'good Christians,' say that the Bible is wrong, that it was written for a primitive tribal culture, and that there are things more important than parental love.
If you believe the scriptures, God is calling them fools. It's all there in Proverbs 1:22, "Scoffers delight themselves in scoffing and fools hate knowledge." The New Testament covers it again in Romans 1:21-32. They just do not see fit to acknowledge God any longer, (except when it builds them up, of course.)
Parents are not respected because parenthood is one of the most God-like roles a human can fulfill. People who have not grown up with knowledge of God do not trust Him. They feel safer trusting public schools and government and the courts.
I am not posting to turn this into a parental rights diatribe, (though admittedly, the previous paragraphs could be framed into a good introduction for one.) Quite the opposite; while reading about societal disrespect for parenthood, I had another revelation. After parenthood, being a judge is another God-like role a human can fulfill. If the Church ever gets her act together and starts preaching sound doctrine on the Judgment of God, then judges won't be respected anymore than parents are. There may be a silver lining to that, but it will be a filmy one.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Sawdust
My memories of sawdust are linked with summertime. My dad would borrow his brother's farm truck and pick up a load of sawdust at the local mill. Soon it mulched the roots of the sugar maple Swing Tree in our back yard.
The Swing Tree was home to two homemade swings. The Little Swing hung from a low branch as was no more exciting than the swings at the park. But the Big Swing was quite another matter. It could soar. From the big swing you could see over the tops of the corn stalks and a quarter-mile down the road to the next neighbor. It could swing high enough to inspire fearless dreams and make any fantasy seem possible.
New sawdust smelled wonderful and gave the sense of a cushiony landing should the rope break. Fortunately, I don’t remember ever having to test that second attribute. What I do remember are the ants. Big, black, wood-chomping ants. They thought sawdust made a wonderful homestead. I disagreed.
Last Sunday's warm and breezy afternoon was the setting for our church picnic, held in an open air pavilion at a local park. The ground was clay, packed with remnants of gravel. It was the dearth of cushiony flooring that led to the unlikely topic: sawdust.
One woman commented that what the place needed was a good layer of sawdust. Another, agreeing, told of how she associated sawdust with old-time summer tent revivals. It occurred to me that I haven't seen sawdust used as a ground cover in years! I think it must all be glued into particleboard or pressed into fake logs now days.
When I began writing, I had a brilliant point in mind, but the sawdust has gone the way of scarecrow brains now and I don't remember what it was.
The Swing Tree was home to two homemade swings. The Little Swing hung from a low branch as was no more exciting than the swings at the park. But the Big Swing was quite another matter. It could soar. From the big swing you could see over the tops of the corn stalks and a quarter-mile down the road to the next neighbor. It could swing high enough to inspire fearless dreams and make any fantasy seem possible.
New sawdust smelled wonderful and gave the sense of a cushiony landing should the rope break. Fortunately, I don’t remember ever having to test that second attribute. What I do remember are the ants. Big, black, wood-chomping ants. They thought sawdust made a wonderful homestead. I disagreed.
Last Sunday's warm and breezy afternoon was the setting for our church picnic, held in an open air pavilion at a local park. The ground was clay, packed with remnants of gravel. It was the dearth of cushiony flooring that led to the unlikely topic: sawdust.
One woman commented that what the place needed was a good layer of sawdust. Another, agreeing, told of how she associated sawdust with old-time summer tent revivals. It occurred to me that I haven't seen sawdust used as a ground cover in years! I think it must all be glued into particleboard or pressed into fake logs now days.
When I began writing, I had a brilliant point in mind, but the sawdust has gone the way of scarecrow brains now and I don't remember what it was.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Blueberry Mornings
I like cool summer mornings. I like the clarity of the light. I like the optimism of the birdsongs. I like the settled freedom of calm air. So, other than an encounter with the occasional dew-strung spider web, what is not to like about picking blueberries?
And that is how I've been able to spend my early mornings of late, picking a cup of breakfast. Today's repast had been pre-washed by midnight thunderstorms, the berries mostly at shoulder-height, just ripe for the plucking.
The gardening of Eden must have been this easy. No sweat. No thorns. No curse.
Amid all these enjoyments, it occurred to me that blueberries are not blue; not really. The smallest ones were acid green, later adding flecks of vermillion. The maturing berries grew in successively deepening wines until they reached an indigo darkness. Then they lightened again in full ripeness. At best, a blueberry is bluish.
There ought to be a word!
And as it turns out, there is. A couple of them.
Caesious – being the color of lavender; with a slight blush of gray. This word also has the distinction of using all the vowels in order!
Glaucous – this botanical term refers to the waxy grayish-bluish-whitish coating. Grapes, plums, and blueberries are all glaucous.
And that is how I've been able to spend my early mornings of late, picking a cup of breakfast. Today's repast had been pre-washed by midnight thunderstorms, the berries mostly at shoulder-height, just ripe for the plucking.
The gardening of Eden must have been this easy. No sweat. No thorns. No curse.
Amid all these enjoyments, it occurred to me that blueberries are not blue; not really. The smallest ones were acid green, later adding flecks of vermillion. The maturing berries grew in successively deepening wines until they reached an indigo darkness. Then they lightened again in full ripeness. At best, a blueberry is bluish.
There ought to be a word!And as it turns out, there is. A couple of them.
Caesious – being the color of lavender; with a slight blush of gray. This word also has the distinction of using all the vowels in order!
Glaucous – this botanical term refers to the waxy grayish-bluish-whitish coating. Grapes, plums, and blueberries are all glaucous.
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