Pastor Shane, Shiloh Community Church, has four sermons on dealing with difficult people. He covers Critical People; Needy People; Manipulative People; Hypocritical People.
They can be watched on Shiloh’s website.
Dealing with Difficult People
Author: Terry Wil Robinson
Learn about me at jonahzsong.blog.
Simchat Torah- 2018
Today is Simchat Torah ( שמחת†תורה†), Joy of the Torah, of which John Parson, writes,
“This holiday marks the completion of the Torah reading cycle for the year. Simchat Torah is based on the “hakhel gathering” ( הַקְהֵל†) commanded by God in the Torah: “At the end of every seven yearsat the set time in the year of release, at the Feast of Sukkot ( בְּחַג†הַסֻּכּוֹת†), when all Israel comes to appear before the LORD your God … you shall read this Torah before all Israel in their hearing. Assemble ( הַקְהֵל†) the people, men, women, and little ones, and the sojourner within your towns, that they may hear and learn to fear the LORD your God, and be careful to do all the words of this Torah” (Deut. 31:10-12).”
Sitting on the deck yesterday as I began writing this post, looking out into the wooded area where the pines are beginning to shed their inner needles, preparing for winter, I thought over this entire season. It begins with a shofar blast on New Year, which is a call to us all. The shofar is a rams horn, that reminds us of the ram that took the place of Issac. (Click link for reference.)
This season calls to us to pray, to look within ourselves, to be prepared for the Day of Atonement. Are we to be found among the goats or the sheep? Are we in a right relationship with G-D? Are we in a right relationship with our other people? It is a season of repentance and rejuvenation. It is a season that concludes with the Feast of Succoth, in which we are called to remember that we, during our lives on Earth, live but a temporal life. It reminds us of the time Israel spent in the desert after its exodus from Egypt.
The last day of Sukkoth is Simchat Torah. YeshuaJesus celebrated this Feast, as described by Apostle John in chapter seven.
On the last day of the feast, the great day, Jesus stood up and cried out, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, asf the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’” (John 7:37,38)
YeshuaJesus would have heard read the last two chapters of Deuteronomy and Genesis chapter one through chapter 2, verse 3. (Click on link to read this Simchat Torah reading.)
The first section of the reading is Moses’s final blessing upon the children of Israel. Deuteronomy concludes with Moses going to “Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho.” There G-D shows him the land Israel is being given, the land that Joshua will lead Israel into as its possession. Moses is only allowed to see the land, but not cross the Jordan, not enter the land of Israel. Moses sinned against the Lord. He “broke faith with me in the midst of the people of Israel at the waters of Meribah-kadesh, in the wilderness of Zin, and because you did not treat me as holy in the midst of the people of Israel.For you shall see the land before you, but you shall not go there, into the land that I am giving to the people of Israel.” (Deuteronomy 32:51,51)
As John Parson puts it, the scroll is rewound and we begin reading from Genesis, the story of G-D creating the world, and all that is in it.
Early this morning two cats were creating havoc, making noise in the living room. I got up to see what the commotion was about, only to find them chasing a mouse. I sat for a while drinking a cup of tea and thinking about Creation. After a creative event, the passages state that “G-D saw that it was good.” Once G-D created the first humans, He “saw everything that He had made, and behold, it was very good.”
I began to think how many times I’d sit in the garden and look out over the ponds, to the yard and into the woods and think of all the things that still need to be done. Trimming, tending, fertilizing. And there’s the pile of tree limbs I trimmed late last Spring that I still need to burn. . . If I don’t ignore it, it consumes by prayer time, my Garden Time. Contrast that attitude with G-D’s who surveyed all He’d done and saw that “It Was Very Good.” Didn’t G-D know there’d be more that needed doing? Didn’t G-D know the fragility of that pair of humans He’d created? They’d need a lot of care to be able to survive in the world outside of the Garden. G-D knew He kick them out for their rebellion against Him. He had a plan. Yet He looked out over the expanse of the world and saw its goodness, its rightness.
When I came back to bed, walking through the living room, I looked with a different set of eyes at some photographs on the wall. I’d walked by them thousands of time, but ignored them. They are of houses with blue shutters, taken on a trip to Siberia twenty years ago. They are beautiful. I looked around the dimly lite room, and though how lovely the room is. I didn’t see the dust on the furniture, the pillows pushed of the sofa–our ill mannered dog thinks she needs to stretch out the whole length of the couch.
It seems I can get so caught up in all that “needs” to be done, and simply not be grateful for the blessings that are around me.
Pigs and Wild Boars; Worms and Butterflies
Not long ago I read an article about Texas’s efforts to eradicate, or at least reduce, the wild boar population. It’d gotten way out of hand, and regular hunter-led efforts had not worked. Primarily, hogs root and destroy the landscape. Their rooting also creates hazards to people and other animals. Hogs are also not native to Texas.
Here in Georgia, I’m told many of the wild hogs were at one time domesticated pigs that got loose. Once a pig gets back into its nature environment, it grows its tusk back, and returns to its viral, wild nature.
“We have found tht hog rings are usually the only thing that will stop a hog from rooting,” wrote Linn in a post on the Homesteading Today forum.
A ring in the snout prevents rooting. It restrains the natural inclinations of a pig. Remove the ring. . . Yup! It roots. A pig is just a better-behaved wild thing.
“And since they did not see fit to acknowledge God, God gave them up to a debased mind to do what ought not to be done. They were filled with all manner of unrighteousness, evil, covetousness, malice. They are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit, maliciousness. They are gossips, slanderers, haters of God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless. Though they know God’s righteous decree that those who practice such things deserve to die, they not only do them but give approval to those who practice them. (Apostle Paul wrote to the Roman, 1:24-32)
There are a type of worm that grows on a leaf, surrounded by a crusty shell. Eventually, it hatches and begins to eat the leaf to which it was attached. It eats. It eats. It eats. Once the leaf is nearly destroyed, it gets sleepy, gathers about it a slimy covering, and rests for a while. The worm changes. It breaks through its cocoon, eats it, and spreads its gorgeous wings, pumps them up, and flies away. It is now a beautiful butterfly.
“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born againbhe cannot see the kingdom of God.” Nicodemus said to him, “How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother’s womb and be born?” Jesus answered, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not marvel that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” Gospel of John 3:3-8)
Notes from Garden Times
It is the world in which we live that slowly dies. We live and we live on beyond all we now see, as beautiful or corrupt as it may be. And yet there are these things I hold dear. Things like mugs and items procured for their looks or comfort or utility, that I don’t want to part with as the world dies. These I hold as if holding on I may prevent the death of the known as I move toward an unknown no matter how wonderful and beautiful it may be beyond this day.
(c) Wil Robinson 1986
Relics of a world that is for me passing away. For I am just passing through on my way to another world another place beyond time and space. Yet here I am wandering as a stranger in this world, in this time, in this piece of space. I wait.
While this is not my home, as Apostle Paul said, I am content in all situations as I await my destiny, my life in another Home, which is a Heavenly Home with Messiah YeshuaJesus. I wait for You, L-RD.
In the Garden, it is like Ham Radio and not always talking but listening, and listening carefully. Listening with openness and intent to the Words Spirit speaks to my heart.
O how I love Thee, L-RD!
Avinu Malkeinu
Our Father; Our King!
Contemplation
On the glorious splendor of your majesty,
and on your wondrous works, I will meditate.
(Ps 145:7)
The word for which I’m looking is Contemplation. Yesterday evening, on the way to Cutter’s, a local lounge, to listen to a jazz ensemble, I struggled with a word that is more acceptable than meditate and yet more adequately describes what I’ve come to refer to as my Garden Times. Earlier in the day I’d sat on the deck staring at the trees in the woods. I thought that if I were to awaken with no knowledge of G-D, I’d look at the trees and they would point to Him. Apostle Paul said as much.
This “thinking” on the deck is more than mere thought, however. But meditating is a word with connotations of emptying oneself and opening oneself up to some Universe Power. Meditating is occasionally referred to as letting go of one’s “monkey mind” and of “becoming one with the Universe.” Neither is my intent, nor is simply thinking.
Perhaps this deep thought might be called prayer in a Christian Church. Yet prayer is so ambiguous. It can mean so many different things. Reading a Psalm is considered prayer to a Jewish man praying Psalm 145 in the morning. Then there are the “Prayers of the People” in an Episcopal and a Roman Catholic Church service in which the priest reads a list of items and the congregation speaks a liturgical response after each item on the list. Prayer is often just humans speaking to G-D as children recite the Pledge of Allegiance at school.
Neither meditation nor prayer do justice to experiencing G-D’s presence in contemplation. That’s the best word for my Garden Times. “On the glorious splendor of your majesty and on your wondrous works, I will contemplate.” I will contemplate the glorious splendor of G-D’s majesty. I will contemplate G-D’s wondrous works. I will hear G-D’s response and prompting and perhaps catch a glimpse of Him. I shall be as the women who sought to but touch the hem of Yeshua’s garment. I will, like Job, hear G-d say He will ask a question and require my response. I might hear G-D say something to which I might, like Abraham, respond boldly with “don’t be angry, but might Your servant ask just one thing more?” I want to cry aloud, as King David:
We have thought on your steadfast love, O G-d,
in the midst of your temple.
As your name, O G-d,
so your praise reaches to the ends of the earth.
Your right hand is filled with righteousness.
Let Mount Zion be glad!
Let the daughters of Judah rejoice
because of your judgments!
(Psalm 48:9, 10, 11)
The World is a Beautiful Place
In high school I read a lot of books and poetry. Two of my favorite poets were Lawrence Ferlinghetti and Allen Ginsburg. In Lawrence Ferlinghetti: Poet-at-Large, author Larry Smith noted that the author “writes truly memorable poetry, poems that lodge themselves in the consciousness of the reader and generate awareness and change. And his writing sings, with the sad and comic music of the streets.” (Source: Lawrence Ferlinghetti Poetry Foundation)
One verse embedded itself into my consciousness, “goosing statues.” Any time I thought of it, a visual image popped into my mind of me running around a park goosing statues. One thing that strikes me about this particular poem, in rereading it this morning, is its timelessness. It was as appropriate in the 1950s and 60s as it is today.
Here’s Mr. Ferlinghetti’s poem:
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing
all the time
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half bad
if it isn’t you
Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen
and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to
Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
dancing
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
‘living it up’
Yes
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling
mortician
The Life and Times of James T. Orwell
James T. Orwell, born sometime in 1963, isn’t real. Google him. Perhaps another James T. Orwell will appear in the search results. But not THIS James T. Orwell. He’s not called Jim or Jamie. He’s not called James, either. When I think of him, he’s always James T. Orwell. What’s the middle name, indicated by the “T”? I don’t know. I never figured that one out.
- Gasoline was about $0.29 a gallon. And Major News Stories include Start of Beatlemania, Zip codes implemented, Martin Luther King, Jr. delivers his “I have a dream” speech, Members of Ku Klux Klan dynamite Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama, Sabin oral Polio Vaccine which is taken with a lump of sugar is given nationwide in US and UK, The Profumo Crisis in the UK, President John F Kennedy assassinated
One Terrence William Robinson, yours truly, had graduated valedictorian from Brown Military Academy in Glendora, California. I spent a pensive summer thinking about. . . I haven’t the foggiest notion what I was thinking. But I do know that I told my Dad I’d love to go to Northwestern Military and Navel Academy, the high school from where he’d graduated in 1942. I thought at the time I was destine to follow in his military marching footsteps. I had know clue. . . He’d graduated then gone directly into the Army, jump school, and assignment with the 327th Glider Regiment, 101st Airborne. Eventually, he went with the 101st from France all the way to the Germany, by way of Bastogne, the well-known Battle of the Bulge in which the division commander refused surrender with the words, “Nuts.” My father went on to serve, and serve well, fought in two wars, and finally retiring in the 1980s as a Colonel.
But eventually I knew what I wanted to do. I remember finally coming to terms and telling Dad that I wanted to major in English in college.
“An English degree and a dime will get you a cup of coffee,” was his only comment. I took it that he wasn’t pleased, thought it highly unlikely that his son would amount to anything, and dismissed my idea. The pen name, James T. Orwell, took a back seat. Oh, James T. Orwell resurfaced no and again. Especially when, as an adult I took night classes in writing and poetry and such.
My days at Northwestern were miserable. It wasn’t the wonderful experience Dad had there. It certainly was far different from the experience I had at Brown Military. There I’d seemed to fit in, did well in both academics and military subjects. Except for one fatal weekend, I excelled. I felt I was headed for great things, a wonderful future.
President Eisenhower, having served the military faithfully, and served America in the highest office, came to Brown one day. The cadet corps assembled on the football/parade field and passed in review. I was called forward and promoted in his presence. Such an honor. I revered both Generals and Priests. I also feared them.
Having been raised in the Episcopal Church, America’s version of the Anglican Church of England, I didn’t learn a lot of things about the Bible as did others who were raised in Bible-based Churches. But at Brown I had several teachers that were Christians, and we had religion classes that were Bible-based. That led to a weekend retreat in the mountains, and Church services that were new and very different to what I was accustom. It was at that Retreat I first encountered the alter call. The Big Decision. That was my “Fatal Weekend.” At least for many years that is how I looked at it.
It was the last day of the Retreat. A Sunday. The Church was filled. The service rousing. Praise songs instead of hymns. A sermon preached with assurance and with a power I’d never experienced. And an Alter Call.
“Everyone close your eyes,” the pastor cried out. And we all did.
“Raise your hands if you want to accept Jesus as your savior,” he went on. I wanted to raise my hand. I was afraid.
“Now come forward,” the pastor cried out. I sat there paralyzed. Others went forward. I stayed back. I held back. I was frozen in my seat. I didn’t know what it meant to accept Jesus. I thought I knew Jesus, having been in Church all my life. I wanted to know more. But fear of the unknown grasped me like chains about my ankles. Then the service was over, and soon I, and the guys I came with, were headed back to Brown. I’d missed my opportunity.
For years I thought that was my big chance and I’d missed it. When things got hard for me over the years, and I made poor choices, or no choices, I thought back to that Alter Call with regret.
Northwestern Military and Navel Academy was an Episcopal school. While my time there was miserable, at least in Church I was comfortable in the ritual and routine. I served as an Alter Boy. I retained my faith. But I lost something, too. At least that’s what I thought when I looked back at what I’d been offered at Brown. I blamed my misery on indecision.
When I thought of that Alter Call, I wished I’d have run, not walked, forward to the Alter. Forward to receive Jesus in the way that pastor had cried out to us. I stopped going to Episcopal Church after I graduated high school. I meandered forward, yet longed to have a greater faith, a true walk with Jesus. I was now bound with guilt of what I thought was my “chance.” It seemed like a lost opportunity.
That was wrong, of course. Opportunities abound. I just didn’t think so.
1973. Major News Stories include Skylab Launched, Cod War UK and Iceland, Secretariat Wins Triple Crown on June 9th , Three-Day Week put in place in the UK, Sydney Opera House is opened, Yom Kippur War and Oil Embargo, Watergate Hearings Begin, Supreme Court rules on Roe v. Wade.
One Terrence William Robinson, yours truly, had been infantry with the 40th Infantry Division of the California Army National Guard. I’d accepted a full-time position at Camp Roberts, and began working in communications systems, armament and small arms, and worked hard. I was not an officer, as my Grandfather and my Dad. I’d joined the National Guard simple doing what my Dad thought best. I’d trained at Fort Ord, California, along with 283 Army Infantry guys, who all went on to Viet Nam. After training, I went home. And for years I felt guilty about that, too.
It was in a barracks, at Fort Irwin, California, that a guy started talking about Jesus. And I started thinking again about my walk, my faith. And I enrolled in a Bible Study course, a correspondence course, to learn more.
As I look back, having dealt with the guilt of that “Fatal” Weekend of indecision, I now know that G-D had a call upon my life. I just didn’t realize it for too many years.
Lessons Learned.
The LORD is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
The LORD is good to all,
and his mercy is over all that he has made. Psalm 145: 9, 10.
It seems to me, now so many years later, that even had I run to that Alter, did what that pastor cried out to do, I’d have still faced all the same difficult times that I faced. I’d have been the same me. Accepting Jesus isn’t the answer to some ideal life of ease. Accepting Jesus is assurance of Peace within one’s soul and an assurance of eternal life. I’d have still made some good decisions, and some that weren’t so good. Life is simply life. I’d have avoided the guilt, however. And, yes, it may just have presented some opportunities that were not available to me. Perhaps.
Realize, I have, that G-D has had a call on my life since I was conceived. For G-D has known me.
For you formed my inward parts;
you knitted me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.a
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well.
My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was being made in secret,
intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes saw my unformed substance;
in your book were written, every one of them,
the days that were formed for me,
when as yet there was none of them. Psalm 139: 13-16
Jesus promises life, and life of abundantly. It’s not too late to commit, to choose that life, either. For YeshuaJesus calls and is patient. When He calls, He continues to call. Our response is a response of the heart. A response of the soul. I know now that I responded in my heart as a child. I just needed to come to the mental awareness, the intellectual knowledge of that decision.
L-RD Bless, Keep, Shine. . .
Faith and James T. Orwell
Apologetics is “reasoned arguments or writings in justification of something, typically a theory or religious doctrine.” —Google Dictionary
One of the most influential Christians and apologist for Christian Faith was C. S. Lewis.
“Clive Staples Lewis (1898–1963) was one of the intellectual giants of the twentieth century and arguably one of the most influential writers of his day. He was a Fellow and Tutor in English Literature at Oxford University until 1954, when he was unanimously elected to the Chair of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge University, a position he held until his retirement.
“Lewis wrote more than thirty books, allowing him to reach a vast audience, and his works continue to attract thousands of new readers every year. C. S. Lewis’s most distinguished and popular accomplishments include Mere Christianity, Out of the Silent Planet, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and the universally acknowledged classics in The Chronicles of Narnia. To date, the Narnia books have sold over 100 million copies and been transformed into three major motion pictures.”
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien is better known to us as J. R. R. Tolkien. Another literary and intellectual giant, his devout Christian faith was a significant factor in the conversion of C. S. Lewis. I read somewhere that while Mr. Tolkien denied writing Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogy as a Biblical allegory, it most certainly is steeped with it, as it came from the heart of a man well-versed in the Bible.
Stephen Hawking, another writer and intellectual, who was also a scientist, is not a Christian, however, yet a voice for atheism.
“British theoretical physicist Stephen Hawking schmoozed with popes during his lifetime, even though he was an avowed atheist. The famous scientist, who died Wednesday in England at 76, was often asked to explain his views on faith and God. During interviews, he explained his belief that there was no need for a creator.
“He said during an interview with El Mundo in 2014: “Before we understand science, it is natural to believe that God created the universe. But now science offers a more convincing explanation. What I meant by ‘we would know the mind of God’ is, we would know everything that God would know, if there were a God, which there isn’t. I’m an atheist.”” (source: WaPo)
Interesting, “science offers a more convincing explanation.” He didn’t prove that G-D doesn’t exist. He didn’t try to do so. He simple believes another explanation for life. That’s his faith. Science.
And that’s the point, isn’t it? Faith. The New Testament writer of “Hebrews” (chapter 11 verse 1) wrote:
“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
Interesting, also, is that a Google search on “There is no god” produces 1.5 billion results in less than a second. It seems there are a lot of folks these days involved in atheist apologetics. In a search for Christian writers, I noticed a few articles attempting to explain why there are so few Christian writers these days. While Nan writing on her blog, Nan’s Notebook, and others who commented on her blog post seem to welcome dialog with Christians, I think many people do not.
While the WordPress community is an exception, there is no lack of nasty, harsh, and often bigoted comments on various forums I’ve read. And then there are the talk show hosts, such as one who said, in essence, that Believers belong in Bellevue, an infamous psychiatric hospital in New York City. One of the worst comments was one in which a person hoped all Christians would die. And while America isn’t as inhospitable to Jewish people, there is still an undercurrent of antisemitism that exists here. People of the Bible, their views and even their presence, isn’t all that welcome in this Post Modern society we’ve created based upon science (I’d like to say science fiction, but don’t wish to offend).
Christian churches have a lot of explaining to do, in my not-so-humble opinion, however. I think many who call themselves atheists have been desperately hurt in churches, and now are filled with anger and resentment toward all who would express their faith the G-D of Israel, Blessed be His Name.
Furthermore, Psychologists and councilors tell us we are inherently good, while the Bible points out our inhumanness, our failure, our worthlessness without G-D. It is difficult to reconcile the two views.
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly,” said YeshuaJesus. (John 10:10) And yet YeshuaJesus taught in parables. To understand the Bible, to understand a Faith in a Creator, one must seek. Wisdom is like hidden nuggets, and we must be prospectors. We have to dig. We also must ask the same G-D we have trouble even believing in.
At Speakers Corner, in London’s Hyde Park, I once asked a Christian, who’d testified to his faith in G-D, about a particular vociferous heckler. He told me that the man came regularly to listen and to heckle. This preacher said he welcomed that man, openly. He comes to heckle, but he is searching
“Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”
“Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” (John 20:24-29; emphasis added)
James T. Orwell. He was born the year Mr. Lewis died. But I’ll need to wait for another day to share Mr. Orwell’s identity.
For now, I leave you with these thoughts from the Psalms, which is today’s selection on Daily Tehillim.
“Why do the nations ragea
and the peoples plot in vain?
The kings of the earth set themselves,
and the rulers take counsel together,
against the LORD and against his Anointed, saying,
“Let us burst their bonds apart
and cast away their cords from us.”
“He who sits in the heavens laughs;
the Lord holds them in derision.
Then he will speak to them in his wrath,
and terrify them in his fury, saying,
“As for me, I have set my King
on Zion, my holy hill.” ”
(Psalm 2:1-6)
Klip in Die Bos
Looking at other blogs in which Christian and Christianity is mentioned or is the topic, I ran across Nan’s Notebook. She posted an article with the title If you are a Christian. . . in which she relates and speaks about a comment she ran across in another blog: “I experienced a slow and somewhat painful internal struggle to accept that I don’t believe in God anymore. When I finally did, I felt free, like I could finally learn to accept who I was.”
Her post started a long sting of comments. 193 comments.
I commented:
Too many years ago now I enjoyed many conversations with a fellow from Australia, then residing in California. We didn’t discuss ‘religion’ per say, but simply talked about life and how we each saw it from a different perspective. He was not a Believer. I am. Yet we shared so much in common, and enjoyed each other’s company.
It seems to me that one of the most difficult things Believers and those who do not can do is simply appreciate each other, both similarities and differences without trying to change one another.
Nan, you and I could sit in a cafe and in similar manner converse with one another and enjoy ourselves. I appreciate you. I sense a kindness and gentle sincerity that comes from your heart.
Shalom.
As a reader of JonahzSong, you’ve experienced my life through various stories. Most of them I’ve attempted to bring an article—a post—to a Messiah-focused conclusion. I don’t think I make any bones about it, I believe in YeshuaJesus. As I’ve been “reconstructing” JonahzSong, I’m attempting to focus on Setting Sail for an Abundant Life.
Yet, in my comment to Nan, I say that she and I could sit in a cafe and have a conversation and enjoy ourselves. One might wonder if that isn’t a contradiction. One might wonder if I am, after all, a hypocrite.
You tell me. I really welcome your comments. For as I’ve said before, I question things. I question myself. I don’t have the answers. Yes, I know Who does. And our L-RD seems to allow use to search for them.
A short vignette illustrates my view, I think.
One evening, walking across a park in Jerusalem, I came upon two men talking.
“Brother, tell this man about Jesus,” one man called to me.
I approached to men and immediately notice the man who was speaking to the one who summoned me wore a kippa. He was Jewish. There were a few other things said as I stood before the men. And finally I responded.
“I can not to that. My brother,” I said referring to the Jewish man, ” has not asked me. I cannot impose myself upon him.”
The Christian who’d called to me seemed upset, and finally went on his way to “witness” to someone else. I was left standing with the Jewish man.
“I’d like you to meet my rabbi,” he said. He invited me to his synagogue.
While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’[a] For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Matthew 9:10-17 (NIV)
L-RD Bless, Keep, Shine upon you and give you a heart for truth and mercy.
Klip in Die Bos:Pastor Thabo, in South Africa, occasionally uses the Afrikaans term that means something like tossing a stone into the brush and seeing what pops out.
Bypass
Heading through Atlanta, Georgia, from Interstates 75, 85, and 20 requires a trucker bypass the city unless actually delivering there. Interstate 285 makes a large ring road around the town, bypassing most of the city, which lies within the ring. There are a great number of cities that offer alternate routes that bypass the main towns, even small towns like Statesboro, GA, and Dothan, AL, have some sort of ring road around them.
Then there are the towns all across America that literally got bypassed when an interstate highway was constructed. Sure, off ramps were provided so a traveller could get off and drive through the town. But travelers, and truckers, stay away from towns, opting for gas and food that are right at the off ramps.
Tucumcari, New Mexico, is a great example. It is located the famous Route 66. It flourished “Back In The Day.” Then Interstate 40 left it in the lurch. Now, driving through the town is a peek back into what it was, and could have been today if not bypassed. Empty stores and building abound. Yet remaining in Tucumcari are some things worth the drive through. There’s several nice restaurants, locally owned and better in both food and service than those chain-run eateries along the Interstate. Some of the many motels are still operating, and worth the stay. And then there’s the Lizard Lounge.
Traveling Route 66 as a young boy with my parents, I remember stopping along the way. I don’t remember Tucumcari, however. I know we stopped there. As a young adult I do remember one layover in that town. In the winter of 1973 I was heading to California from Georgia, where I’d been at Fort Benning for training. The weather turned ugly, it snowed heavily, and Route 66 was closed at Tucumcari. I spent the night in a small motel. I don’t recall eating a meal in town. I didn’t go into the Lizard Lounge, either. I do recall getting up early in the morning, going to my totally cool 1969 Mustang (jacked up with wide racing tires on the rear, and clearing the snow off, then turning on the CB radio. I went back into the room and listened to the truckers chat while awaiting word that the road was open. Finally a trucker said the barricades were removed, and he was heading out. I hustled my girl friend and our three-year old daughter into the Mustang, and we were off. We were going to beat the crowd. There was a line of cars and trucks, but few actually dared go on. I was the first car to get out of town, driving behind three semis. The highway wasn’t cleared at all. I drove precariously in the tracks left by those three trucks past cars and other trucks that had become mired in the snowfall from the previous day. The cars were abandoned, perhaps highway patrol officers had driven the owners into town. Truckers simply slept in their trucks, and now awaited tow trucks to help them onto the road again. It was a slow drive, but finally somewhere in Arizona the snow had melted off and we were back to our regular drive.
It wasn’t until sometime in 2007 that I returned to Tucumcari. There was no snow then. The Interstate had bypassed the town, but the owner-operator trucker I teamed with wanted to stop at his favorite bar and grill—The Lizard Lounge. We parked next to it for the night. It was late, the bar was open, but the grill closed. No matter. The bartender made us some tortillas and eggs smothered in salsa. We ate. We drank a few cold beers. The next morning we were back on the road again.
Last summer I made a trip out west. I followed the path of the Great American Eclipse, just a few days ahead of it. I drove from my brother’s home in North Carolina out to Oregon. I stopped on the way through Wyoming, picking up a bottle of Wyoming Whiskey Eclipse edition, only available in Wyoming. In Oregon I spent time with with that now-grown daughter. I spent some time, too, with her two children, who are now older than I was when I hustled her and her mother into my Mustang in Tucumcari so long ago. We watched the eclipse from a campsite in Gold City, Oregon. We drank a small glass of whiskey. I smoked a cigar. The eclipse from there was only 95%, but was incredible. Memorable.
On the way back to Georgia, after visiting two more brothers, I stopped again in Tucumcari. It had changed. Some. It felt darker, less inviting. I ate a great late breakfast at a small diner. In the evening I went to the Lizard Lounge. The grill was closed. The bartender was not going to make a couple eggs. I talked with a fellow traveler who’d stopped over in that forgotten town. It was an odd conversation. I don’t remember what was said, but it was just odd. I can’t put my finger on what or why. Just odd. I opted not to take a room at the motel attached to that bar and grill, staying in another cheap motel instead. In the morning I talked with a Christian woman that worked the morning shift at the motel desk. She filled me in on some of the local happenings, which weren’t many. One thing that stands out is how some of the town’s businessmen had successfully prevented competition to the one local grocery store. In the light of day, as I drove several times through town, I saw satanic pentagrams painted on some of the old buildings. That explained the darkness that had encroached on Tucumcari, I thought. I got a sense from the lady that there was a spiritual struggle brewing in town between Bible Believing folks and their opposites, their counterparts of another religion A pagan religion that invaded the town. The town seemed splintered. Light. Dark. Trouble coming, already there.
Salt of the Earth. It’s an English phrase referring to a person who is thoroughly decent. Christians are suppose to be the Salt of the Earth. “The role of salt in the Bible is relevant to understanding Hebrew society during the Old Testament and New Testament periods. Salt is a necessity of life and was a mineral that was used since ancient times in many cultures as a seasoning, a preservative, a disinfectant, a component of ceremonial offerings, and as a unit of exchange. The Bible contains numerous references to salt. In various contexts, it is used metaphorically to signify permanence, loyalty, durability, fidelity, usefulness, value, and purification.” —Wikipedia.
You are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his. savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good. for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men
— Matthew 5:13
There is a town in Montana that I’ve passed through many time while driving truck. It’s another bypassed town, on a nearly forgotten US route. Folks drive farther on the interstate, but avoid the small towns that are on that highway. Broadus, Montana.
My first trip through, heading north to Washington with a load, just after a stop at the truck scales, I drove down a hill and notice first that there where several churches, a large park, and a baseball field. I noticed, too, that the town just felt nice, bright, clean. Stopping at one of the small stores for a soft drink, I spoke with the owner. Nice guy. The town was doing well. Ranchers and some farming along the river areas, were the main stay of the community.
Another forgotten town that hasn’t dried up, fallen apart.
It’s off the beaten path of motorists in a hurry.
It’s a town filled with light, and the Salt of the Earth holds it.
L-RD Bless, Keep, Shine. . .
Jonah’s Song 