The Nine Principles

Do not think dishonestly
The Way is in Training
Become acquainted with with every act
Know the Ways of all professions
Distinguish between gain and loss in worldly matters
Develop intuitive judgment and understanding for everything
Perceive those things that connot be seen
Pay attention even to little things
Do nothing that is of no use

—Musachi Miyamoto, 1645

Mustache Minamoto, according to Wikipedia, was a swordsman in the 17th Century that epitomizes the legend of the lone samurai, and taught “the principle that all technique is simply a method of cutting down one’s opponent.”

Question: How do these principles hold up in light of Judaeo Christian Scripture?

I’d love to hear your answers.

I Wanna Go Home. . .

Hours before dawn this morning, while walking in the desert, I came upon a small group of young men and an old flatbed truck. The men appeared to be American Indians. A foal trotted along side the truck, falling on a sharp hook that protruded from the truck’s bed. Blood oozed from the wound. I suggested that the foal needed attention, and though there was some dissent, they finally agreed. I had to open a cattle crossing and carry the foal a short way to a large ranch house. The foal was taken somewhere by someone, while the group of men remained. Eventually they led me desert to an older man in the house. I asked to use the toilet, and the old man and the group of men lead me through a large living room toward the back of the house. We walked by a number of bedrooms and through a large community sleeping room with many single beds in it. All along the way through the house many of the mens’ wives greeted us. They appeared to know me and that I was coming. Finally we emerged through a doorway into a restaurant.

In the restaurant, under bright lights, I looked closely at the men. They were older than they looked. I looked again and saw that they were my age and I knew them vaguely. They were all saying to me that they were happy to have be back. One man showed me a block of soap that they’d developed for a car wash, and wanted me to tell them why it didn’t work now, though had worked several weeks ago. I had no clue, yet it came to me that a few weeks ago the soap was new, now it was aged and had lost its potency.

Another of the men spoke of his wife, in hushed, intimate, tones; she’d been injured some time ago and the insurance company paid for complete restricting of her jaw. In a more recent injury, the insurance was doing little to help. As he spoke it dawned on me that I’d known these men as a child.

A woman appeared then and we spoke about my going away, and that I regretted it. She said it was what it was, and that now I was back and that too was as it was to be. She was happy I was back.

Soon we wandered back into the house and the older man I’d met earlier showed me my bed, saying it was my old bed. It was in the community bedroom with many other single beds. As I lay down, the woman that I’d spoken came and lay next to me. She said she missed how when we were kids we’d all slept together on the floor.

I felt content. I felt appreciated. I was home. I now only vaguely knew I’d had a life away, but now I, home, that life was a million miles away. In the distance ‘yotes (coyotes) sang to a tranquil yellow dawn.

I awoke from my dream only minutes before the alarm sounded. I went to the kitchen to make my wife some coffee for her commute to her office. As I did so I thought of the dream. I began to connect the house in the dream to a ranch house I remember as a child. In the house lived a girl that was like a sister to me. In the house there was a room behind the living room in which we’d played. She told me that it was where the ranch hands once lived. I was born only a few miles from her, on a small ranch, in the desert, in the foothills of a mountain range, a hundred of so miles east of Los Angeles.

The dream and the reality of my own life merged. A childhood friend was a Mexican-American Indian, the son of my Father’s First Sergeant. My Father had built up a small ranch soon after WWII, and invited to it a woman he’d met in England while staging with the 101st Airborne Division for D-Day. She was the daughter of a Welsh miner, from a small village in South Wales. When my Father met her, she was a nurse stationed near the Army post. Their first date was a true blind date; it was in a black out. She arrived by boat in New York, and they married. I was born on the ranch a few years later.

After this I will pour out My Spirit on all humanity;
then your sons and your daughters will prophesy,
your old men will have dreams,
and your young men will see visions.
I will even pour out My Spirit
on the male and female slaves in those days.
I will display wonders
in the heavens and on the earth:
blood, fire, and columns of smoke.
The sun will be turned to darkness
and the moon to blood
before the great and awe- inspiring Day of the Lord comes.
Then everyone who calls
on the name of the LORD will be saved,
for there will be an escape
for those on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem,
as the Lord promised,
among the survivors the Lord calls. —Joel 2:28-32 (emphasis added)

Mulling all this over, I recalled that my parents had appeared briefly in the dream, also. I also saw in the dream that I’d been very unhappy at myself that I’d left the ranch, which is how I’ve felt in reality. I left the ranch, was torn from the ranch, why my Father’s National Guard infantry company was activated for deployment and combat in Korea. I never knew why my Father sold the ranch, but he must have felt couldn’t afford to hire ranch manager to run the ranch in his absence.

After my Father returned from Korea, we never returned to the ranch or that small desert town, except on an occasional visit. That burned beneath my skin; it galled me throughout my life. I can still taste the bitterness. I not only had been uprooted, but my Father was taken from me when I so very much needed stability and him. I also wanted the simplicity and security of the ranch I knew in my child mind. Yes, my Mother settled us on the coast south of Los Angeles, and my Welsh aunt came to live with us. Yes, they spoke Welsh and I learned it too, though don’t speak many words now, for its long been forgotten. Yes, I came to love the salt air, the smell of the sea, the cry of the gulls, and the water—oh, the blue-green salt water. But something was torn from within me that never returned—at least not until this morning’s predawn dream.

The sense of contentment, the feeling of appreciation for me by those dream people on that dreamed ranch in the desert still warm me now, several hours later. And the feeling of welcome and the hugs of true friendship are so pleasant. What I take from this dream is that there shall come a time that I will one day go home and this life, with all its highs and lows, its beauty and ugliness, will fade away and the true reality of who I am will come to be. I will be home, among true friends, among those that truly love me, truly accept me.

I love You LORD!

Ramblin’ September 2015

Some times I need to ramble to discover my thoughts. It’s filling white space with random, un-edited, and un-analyzed thoughts in order to connect various points. In this way things make sense, or not. . .

So, here we are toward the end of Rosh Hashanah, which began at sundown last Sunday, September 13, 2015, and concludes with Yom Kippur, which begins sundown on Tuesday. This is time for observant Jews to repent, make amends, and do good deeds to show their worthiness to be inscribed for a good year next year.

In addition to the obligations of which I feel responsible, I’ve been thinking about what exactly is the Image of the Beast. Here follows my notes, my ramblings:

Rev. 13:14
The First Beast is given his power by Satan. The Second Beast has all the authority of the First Beast and he compels all people to worship the First Beast, uses signs, and deceives people into making an image of the First Beast and take upon them a Mark. He also gives a spirit to the image of the First Beast that speaks and causes death to those that won’t worship him. None are allowed to buy, sell, or trade without the Mark.

The Image. It is seen as a statue, to some, that will talk to people and kill those that don’t obey the laws of the First Beast, which is a form of worship.

One commentary (Jamieson, Faust, and Brown, pub. 1878) speaks of the First Beast as the combined world powers: “Hence, the world powers seeking their own glory, and not God’s, are represented as beasts; and Nebuchadnezzar, when in self- deification he forgot that “the Most High ruleth in the kingdom of men,” was driven among the beasts. In Da 7:4- 7 there are four beasts:here the one beast expresses the sum- total of the God- opposed world power viewed in its universal development, not restricted to one manifestation alone, as Rome. This first beast expresses the world power attacking the Church more from without; the second, which is a revival of, and minister to, the first, is the world power as the false prophet corrupting and destroying the Church from within.”

In reading Jamieson, et al, commentary, the healing of the wound of First Beast coincides with the rise of Second Beast. This beast is perhaps from within the church, but has the Worldly wisdom to back it up. It supports First Beast. This according to the commentators only occurs in the Last Days before the return of the King, the Lord.

“The first beast is physical and political; the second a spiritual power, the power of knowledge, ideas (the favorite term in the French school of politics), and scientific cultivation. Both alike are beasts, from below, not from above; faithful allies, worldly Antichristian wisdom standing in the service of the worldly Antichristian power:the dragon is both lion and serpent:might and cunning are his armory. The dragon gives his external power to the first beast (Re 13:2), his spirit to the second, so that it speaks as a dragon (Re 13:11). The second, arising out of the earth, is in Re 11:7; 17:8, said to ascend out of the bottomless pit:its very culture and world wisdom only intensify its infernal character, the pretense to superior knowledge and rationalistic philosophy (as in the primeval temptation, Ge 3:5, 7, “their EYES [as here] were opened”) veiling the deification of nature, self, and man. Hence spring Idealism, Materialism, Deism, Pantheism, Atheism. Antichrist shall be the culmination. The Papacy’s claim to the double power, secular and spiritual, is a sample and type of the twofold beast, that out of the sea, and that out of the earth, or bottomless pit. Antichrist will be the climax, and final form. PRIMASIUS OF ADRUMENTUM, in the sixth century, says, “He feigns to be a lamb that he may assail the Lamb– the body of Christ.”

It seems to me that Matthew Henry’s Commentary (pub. 1706) agrees in some respects with Jamieson et al on First Beast as a dominating power and Second Beast a spiritual power supporting the political power base. Interestingly, Matthew Henry writes of the wounds as the dying of the pagan idolatry and the new First Beast puts forth a re-branding of the pagan as popish idolatry that is the “same in substance, only in a new dress, but which as effectually answers the devil’s design.”

In some ways this sounds very much like the Roman Empire that persecuted Christians, then became the Roman Catholic Church, which has always re-branded pagan doctrines as its own “Christian” doctrines, that is these days doing the same thing with the New Age movement and adopting the “Green Agenda,” which is all the rage of the current political leadership of the United States and Europe.

Still remains in my mind is what exactly does it mean: Second Beast “telling those who live on the earth to make an image of the beast who had the sword wound and yet lived. He was permitted to give a spirit to the image of the beast, so that the image of the beast could both speak and cause whoever would not worship the image of the beast to be killed.”

What would this image look like, what would it be. It is an image of a power structure that has complete political, and obviously military, power over the people of Earth. It gains abilities to communicate to Earth’s inhabitants and kill them if they don’t go along. Could it be an implant that guides the people who accept it? Are the conspiracy theorists right that there will be an RFID chip involved? But it would go much further than simply being a tracking device, for it would be capable of two-way communications, and it would be lethal. There are RFID UHF devices capable of two-way communications up to around 100m. I haven’t determined if the RFID can communicate locally, however. Mostly the RFIDs are for tracking inventory, making payments (as with credit cards), and are used in some way within wireless devices. The latter point is interesting. I occurs to me that there could be a smart chip that monitors certain sensor inputs and responds accordingly. For instance, how about an RFID for a medical purpose that monitors blood pressure, and triggering a transmit when sensing elevated BP. The received signal could then activate an alarm, locally, or be retransmitted to a 911 operator. That’s perhaps the Mark of Beast One, but not the image.

Of Second Beast, Rev. Henry wrote: “It exercised all the power of the former beast. It pursues the same design, to draw men from worshipping the true God, and to subject the souls of men to the will and control of men. The second beast has carried on its designs, by methods whereby men should be deceived to worship the former beast, in the new shape, or likeness made for it. By lying wonders, pretended miracles. And by severe censures. Also by allowing none to enjoy natural or civil rights, who will not worship that beast which is the image of the pagan beast. It is made a qualification for buying and selling, as well as for places of profit and trust, that they oblige themselves to use all their interest, power, and endeavor, to forward the dominion of the beast, which is meant by receiving his mark. To make an image to the beast, whose deadly wound was healed, would be to give form and power to his worship, or to require obedience to his commands. To worship the image of the beast, implies being subject to those things which stamp the character of the picture, and render it the image of the beast. The number of the beast is given, so as to show the infinite wisdom of God, and to exercise the wisdom of men.”

Hum. So the business dictionary defines corporate image as: “Mental picture that springs up at the mention of a firm’s name. It is a composite psychological impression that continually changes with the firm’s circumstances, media coverage, performance, pronouncements, etc. Similar to a firm’s reputation or goodwill, it is the public perception of the firm rather than a reflection of its actual state or position. Unlike corporate identity, it is fluid and can change overnight from positive to negative to neutral. Large firms use various corporate advertising techniques to enhance their image in order to improve their desirability as a supplier, employer, customer, borrower, etc. The image of Apple computer, for example, as a successful business has dimmed and brightened several times in the last 30 years. But its identity (conveyed by its name and multicolored bitten-off-apple logo) as an innovative and pathbreaking firm has survived almost intact during the same period.”

In the Church realm, how do people “see” the churches in America? Those that are acceptable, by the Twenty-First Century standard seeming must accept homosexuality and abortions as acceptable in society, among other things. But more, the church must be supportive of the agenda of those in political power. Hence, we find that church support the “Green Agenda.” As does the Pope support this through his speeches about Global Warming/Climate Change. We are to believe, too, the lie. Thus, we worship First Beast, as pressured by Second Beast. As Rev. Henry wrote: “To worship the image of the beast, implies being subject to those things which stamp the character of the picture, and render it the image of the beast.”

Deflated Balls, other Controversies

Okay. I’m more a cynic than a skeptic. I admit it. Preceding last night’s Super Bowl American Football game, the Media Attention focused on an examination of footballs alleged to be underflated. Is underflated a word? Under-inflated, is that correct? The controversy became heated over alleged improperly inflated balls used in another recent game between the same Super Bowl contestants. It even got the attention of the President of the United States.

What else was going on during this past week? Don’t know. All the news, seemingly all the people, were concerned about air. Air pressure, that is. When this happens, I envision a giant magician waving a scarf with his right hand capturing his audience’s attention. And with his un-noticed left hand? I wonder. A little slight of hand? Distraction.

But then there’s the other way these things often work. Controversy stirs people up, and it sells. It used to sell newspapers; but those are mostly a thing of pre-internet days. In the past, controversy sold books, or so Mark Twain thought. He published “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” in America in 1885 and it immediately became embroiled in controversy, with the Concord Public Library banning the book. When Mr. Twain heard of the book banning, his response was that it will sell 25,000 more books. There you have it. Not only do controversies distract attention from something, but they focus it toward something else.

What’s the point? There isn’t any point. That’s the point. It’s hype. It’s drama. It’s also irrelevant. And it’s okay. . . at least it’s okay if we understand the point.

So we enjoy the Super Bowl game. We enjoy the action. Some of us loved the end of the game with an interception of a pass that could have made the winning touchdown. And after the game, while being interviewed, the player who intercepted that near-winning pass said he was blessed. He was blessed.

In the end let us say of our plays, or lives, that we are blessed, and let our hearts. . .

Be Established with Grace. . . (Hebrews 13:9)

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Lazy Hazy Days of Summer. . .

. . . NOT! Although our spring lasted well into June, with good rain and cool temperatures, that’s over now, and hot and humid by two o’clock in the afternoon is the order of things. While there’s been some storm clouds building late in the day, we’ve had only sprinkles this past week. But the mornings–those are wonderful. Cool, with minimal bugs, birds singing, frogs croaking. Pleasant!

Echinacea — Echinacia or Cone Flower, while there is no scientific evidence to show that echinacea will heal, Native Americans and even Elk have used it for its immunological properties. And we grow it for the same reasons!

In the garden all weekend, digging out more clay, replacing it with top soil, planting. We also began work on a second pond that is a few feet higher, up slope, from the one we dug last year. Water will pump out of the old pond into a stock tank that will filter the water, dumping it into the new pond. From there water will fall two-foot into the old pond. The building process begins with digging out very hard clay down nearly three feet on one end, and a bit under two feet on the other. A wall added to that side will raise it above the older pond. We have rubber liner that will hug the clay, sealing the pond. Once the new pond is filled with water, we’ll let it sit a day or so and move all the fish and plants into it from the old pond. A thorough cleaning of the old pond is next. Refilled with water, letting it sit to de-clorinate, then we can move some of the plants and fish back.

Another Pond — Beginning to build another pond.

We’re adding a new, larger pump to fill the stock tank we’ll use as a filter, providing water flow of about 3200 gallons an hour. The old pumps will be re-purposed into aerators for each pond that will bubble air into the water to help with algae control.

Most of the work is just plain hard labor of digging out the clay. The interesting part comes when cutting in the new pond, getting the water to flow the way we want, and arranging the plants.

But one step at a time. Like in all things, it all begins with the sweat and aching muscles of hard work.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine upon you all.

The Lord will keep you from all evil;
He will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore
Psalm 121:7-8

‘Tis the Season. . . (Or is it?)

Thanksgiving had not yet come and stores were already playing Christmas music while displays were changed. Red ribbons and green garnish added to shelves along with tinsel and pine branches. And now that Thanksgiving is over, there is a flurry of activity and more music. SirusXM satellite radio will devote several channels exclusively to Christmas music. Regular stations will emphasize Christmas music. It won’t be long before all the restaurants will play Christmas music, some too loudly. And the advertisements all include the Christmas theme. From the posters in the windows to radio and television ads, we are inundated with the message that we must BUY, BUY, BUY if we are to have a jolly old Christmas.

Well-meaning Christians try there best to include something about Y’shuaJesus among their own decorations. So we find Nativity scenes with Santa Claus and raindeer and elves and other mythical creatures celebrating. Occasionally I see a sticker plastered on a car that proclaims, “Jesus is the Reason for the Season.” Well-meaning, but to me so misled, so utterly wrong. For these are the same Christians that teach their children about Santa Claus, and in a few months will teach them about the Easter Bunny. Then one day those kids will find out the truth, there’s neither a Santa nor is there a Bunny who lays eggs. Will they conclude then that there’s no Jesus either?

It’s all just plain wrong. And it makes me sad. It makes me feel badly. It’s all such perversion. It reminds me of people selling stuff the the Temple of the Lord our G-d in Jerusalem around two thousand years ago. And I’m reminded of what Y’shuaJesus did there.

When it was almost time for the Jewish Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem. 14 In the temple courts he found men selling cattle, sheep and doves, and others sitting at tables exchanging money. 15 So he made a whip out of cords, and drove all from the temple area, both sheep and cattle; he scattered the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. 16 To those who sold doves he said, “Get these out of here! How dare you turn my Father’s house into a market!” 17 His disciples remembered that it is written: “Zeal for your house will consume me.”

John 2:13-17 (NIV)

This Christmas season is suppose to commemorate the birth of the Messiah, yet it is not even the time of the year that Y’shuaJesus was born. Christmas is celebrated at the Winter Solstice, a very Pagan holiday. And it was the Roman Catholic Church, the only church at the time, that selected and promoted this Christmas thing. It all begins with a lie and becomes a commercial venture. If Christmas were a truly Christian Celebration, then why would non-Christians join in the celebration? Do non-Believers take communion with Believers? Do non-believers sing with Believers the worship songs to the Lord?

And besides, when we were instructed to remember Y’shuaJesus, we were to remember that He is the bread of our lives, and His blood was shed for us and for our salvation . . .

Y’shuaJesus is not a baby laying in a manger. Y’shuaJesus is LORD.

Second Coming Jesus 22 (Photo credit: Waiting For The Word)

And I turned to see the voice that was speaking with me. And having turned, I saw seven golden lampstands; and in the middle of the lampstands one like the Son of Man, clothed in a robe reaching to the feet, and girded across His breast with a golden girdle. And His head and His hair were white like wool, like snow; and His eyes were like a flame of fire; and His feet were like burnished bronze, when it had been caused to glow in a furnace, and His voice was like the sound of many waters. And in His right hand He held seven stars, and out of His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword; and His face was like the sun shining in its strength. And when I saw Him, I fell at His feet as a dead man. And He laid His right hand upon me, saying, ‘Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living One; and I was dead, and behold, I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of death and of Hades.

(Revelation 1:12-18).

When we see Y’shuaJesus, we aren’t asking any questions–like one of the women in that CNN program about women returning from the dead. If we don’t fall at his feet like dead men and women, we at the least will sit mouths dropped in awe. For Y’shuaJesus, born in a cradle, is King of Kings, Lord of Lords, and at His coming:

Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Philippians 2:9,11

Everyone will acknowledge Y’shuaJesus as Lord.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

October

It seems I’ve skipped most of the month of October. It began with the representatives of Americans who wanted their voices heard about the way the Government is spending the people’s money. Lake of enough votes to actually pass a budget left my wife out of work for the first three weeks of the month.

So as the time flew by, my wife spent a lot of time in a corner of our house dedicated to her only real hobby, art. The passed five or so years she’s been gathering up photos, both old and new, and sorting through them, and preparing to build family scrapbooks. It’s really impossible to say exactly what I really did. I piddled around in the shop, did some things around the house that needed to be done.

One thing that we did, during the “furlough” is to go out for lunch together, at a few favorite places as well as trying out a few new ones. We discovered Mambo Jambo cafe, located near an old favorite lunch place. We ended up at Mambo when we arrived at that old favorite late, and confronted a crowd awaiting seats. It was so worth being late, and giving Mambo a try.

Mambo Jambo is subtitled A Nuevo Latino Seafood Cafe. Entering, we were greeted warmly, and lead to a booth or table, our choice, in one of two dining rooms. We chose a booth. Splitting the cafe provided a more intimate experience. The decor is earthly, using lots of dark wood and black iron. My wife had a margarita, while I choose the Dos X beer on tap. My wife commented that her drink was exceptional, with a generous amount of tequila. We both ordered fish tacos. They were served with several sauces, each a marvel. I had the “signiture” salad, that included strawberries, walnuts, and goat cheese. Delicious. My wife had a Greek salad, and loved the delicate, yet spicy dressing. Not only was the food excellent, but the presentation was striking. Everything from having a carafe of water on the table to the plates and bowls that the food was served on made a delight upon which the eyes feasted.

Presentation. It’s an old concept, really. I first read of it in relation to food in a Chinese cook book. It seems to me, that presentation is as persuasive as fragrance when it comes to the enjoyment that one may take from the simple act of eating a meal.

I am reminded of a verse in my morning reading of Revelation:

Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the Lamb. And he saith unto me, These are the true sayings of God.

Revelation 19:9

And when I think of The Feast, I think of what we call the Last Supper. I think of how Y’shuaJesus presented Himself. He said we should break bread and drink wine and do so in remembrance of Him. The Body and The Blood. A true presentation.

How do I translate this into Christian Living for the Twenty-First Century? Simple! We are more than the money we give to ministries, we are ministers to those with whom we come into contact. We are living Bibles to people we meet each day. We are a meal to tantalize the senses of the unsaved. We are the Body of Messiah.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Cucamonga

Comedian Jack Benny once told a story about how the small town of Cucamonga got its name. He said that there was once a wagon train traveling what is now Route 66 through southern California that was in need of a cook. The wagon master called to settlers in the area where the town now is saying, “Is there a cook among ya?”

Cucamonga doesn’t exist anymore, exactly. It’s old downtown, if that is what it could be called was leveled. Then Rancho Cucamonga was born, a new creation of modern buildings and stores, its area expanded by grabbing several small unincorporated areas in the vicinity. It looks nothing like the Cucamonga that I remember as a child. I lived on Red Hill, about three miles from the old center of town. Red Hill rose above the old Route 66, with views of surrounding orange groves that extended many miles to the south. For the first year I rode the bus from my house to the small school in Cucamonga.

I remember the school buildings and the rooms. One entire wall of each room was glass windows with black-out draperies that would be pulled closed in the event of an attack. It was the glorious fifties when we feared a nuclear attach by Russia. We practiced pulling the draperies closed and climbing under our desks. Its ironic that today we have no windows on our school classrooms, and there is no fear of a nuclear attach, yet we dread the though of a student or someone else bringing a rifle to school to create chaos, to kill.

At the main intersection of Route 66 as it ran through the old downtown of Cucamonga sat Dee’s Diner. It was an old railroad car with seating along a counter. I got in a little trouble for sneaking out of school during lunchtime one day, going to Dee’s. I remember for the same price as lunch at school, 35 cents, I got a hamburger with fries and a piece of wonderful apple pie. The diner is gone now, and so are lunches for 35 cents. And there aren’t pies made like that anymore, either.

The house that we lived in on Red Hill was along a wash that sat dry most of the year. It was only during the rare storms that it filled up with water running down from the mountains to the north. Across the wash there were orange groves. During the late spring, when the temperatures dropped, smudge pots were lit to ward of the frost that would destroy the newly budded oranges. Smudge pots burned oil, and produced an oily smoke that drifted around the groves, and out toward our house.

A couple other memories come to mind about that house. One is that my dog, who had been on the ranch with us, got old and could no longer walk or eat. My mother and I had to take her on her last trip to the veterinarian. I loved Bonnie, a part German shepherd part collie. She’d sat with me, watching over me, while I as an infant slept in a pram in the yard by our ranch house. When my mom wasn’t home, I used to let her inside. Mom always new, for Bonnie shed long brown hair, leaving a bit of a mess.

The other memory is the hobo that came around occasionally. My mother taught the man how to sharpen knives on the cement porch at the back of the house. In trade, he was given a sandwich and a glass of something to drink. I’ve always thought it pretty cool that my mom helped a guy learn to earn his meal, rather than simply giving him something that only filled his stomach for a short while. These days in international development circles–a big business–we used to say, “Give a man a fish, feed him for a day; teach him how to fish, feed him for a lifetime.”

That house was rented. We lived there for two-and-a-half years then moved to a house we built on the other side of Red Hill. I don’t recall seeing the Hobo again. I wonder if he continued coming to the old house, and getting a meal for sharpening knives. I always thought that he may have traveled all over sharpening knives for people, all because my mother refused him a free lunch.

I tried doing something similar once. I suggested to a homeless fellow that I’d give him lunch if he’d sweep the back room of a grocery store at which I once worked. He couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t need to work when he could go on to the next place and get something for nothing. Times had changed. It seems sort somehow odd that with the demise of the old Cucamonga, and the rise of an affluent and fancy, upscale city, the old hobos with a sense of personal responsibility and a certain integrity gave way to deadbeat homeless.

It seems to me that Y’shuaJesus wants us to over a safety net to help those who truly can’t help themselves. But certainly Y’shuaJesus doesn’t intend for the nets to become hammocks upon which the lazy can lounge.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

Another Broken Egg Cafe

It’s mid-morning in an up-scale and growing part of Georgia north of its big city, Atlanta. I came down here to pick up new glasses, ordered after an exam several weeks ago, but adjustments are necessary and the lab technician won’t be in until later. Rather than make another trip, I figured I’d hang out. I like breakfast. And I like hanging out in coffee shops. There are few places that I frequent, though, so I’m always up for a new experience, if the price isn’t outrageous, which is getting to be the norm these days, and if it looks like I can get an omelet that is without meat but more than cheese, I up for it. Too many places serve a veggie omelet that is just pepper, tomato, and onions. So here I am at Another Broken Egg Cafe.

I sit down at a table with a view of the coffee station, which is okay. There are lots of windows that look out into the parking lot that surrounds the small shopping plaza in which this cafe is located, just down from the optometrist’s office. WiFi is available, so I set my MacBook Air next to my Bible. The Bible is the one that I keep on the dash of the truck that is in a nylon cover proclaiming “This Book is Illegal in 53 Countries.” I ordered unsweetened ice tea. I stopped drinking coffee several months ago, and don’t really miss it, which is a bit odd. While sweet tea is a southern specialty, unsweetened with lemon suites me just fine. I ordered the veggie omelet: spinach, tomatoes, portabella mushrooms, and goat cheese, served with seasoned potatoes and an English muffin. All this at an acceptable price. The service is great here, the folks friendly. On the walls that aren’t windows, there are various framed posters that copies of floral paintings. There are a few framed posters with spoon collections displayed, and one that has a fork and a spoon enclosed in a deep frame that must be four-feet tall. I suppose the decor is Chic Country. There are a number of tables that have couples with older kids. School hasn’t begun here, as it has where I live. Several business-types are here, too, one with others that could be clients or perhaps just friends. At least four tables are crowded with women. They could be on their way to work, or just having a meal out after dropping kids at a pre-school or day camp. For the stay-at-home moms, next week will be the beginning of their real summer break.

The omelet is served quickly. It is good. The seasoning is subtle, lacking the zest of other places. But it’s good. The potatoes are mildly seasoned, and though they are okay, they are really just frozen potatoes heated. The eggs did taste real, though. I was totally disgusted at an IHOP one day when I learned that the omelet is made with batter from a carton, not actually made from eggs broken and stirred. I only learned this when I asked the waitress if I received the wrong eggs–my wife had ordered the fake eggs with her omelet. We’d eaten at IHOP several times, and this was the first time the omelet was so bad. It may have been a new change, or just the way it was cooked. It was not good.

That reminds me of this ma and pa diner outside Oklahoma City. It wasn’t a fancy diner, but served good eggs and great homemade hash browns. The woman behind the counter of the small place was the owner. I suppose it was her husband back in the kitchen. We got to talking and she told me that one time she hired a cook to help out. It didn’t work out, though. The guy came from the fast-food school of cooking and hadn’t a clue how to cook a real egg. It makes me wonder about ordering eggs over easy at a chain restaurant. Do they come frozen, too?

It feels like I fit in here in Another Broken Egg Cafe. I’m wearing western-style boots and a long-sleeve, plaid shirt. It’s not that there are others dressed this way. It’s the diversity of patrons. Some are plainly dressed. Women in shorts, and some guys in a beach-style attire. There’s two men in suits. One guy has a camo hat on, and looks like he drove up in his hunting truck. Only a glance in the parking lots says that others clearly drove an audi or BMW or something more fancy. A person’s car is no indication of wealth, however. The guy in the truck probably owns it, while many folks with fancy cars just rent them. Oh, yeah, it called “leasing.” While one couple with a baby sits by the widow, eating with strained faces and not really talking, all the rest look happy, smiling and talking with their breakfast friends. Ordinary people on an ordinary day, in more-than-ordinary restaurant in northern Georgia.

And not one person has read the cover to my Bible, or given any indication of having done so. And not one person has asked me about it. It’s time to go.

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .

A Wonderful Sail Yesterday

Yesterday, I went out to the lake to sail. I stopped on the way to pay a bill. When I arrived at the marina, despite forecasts of wind, there was nothing. Then I realized my phone dropped from my pocket while paying that bill. I drove back to the place, retrieved my wallet, and thought, “No wind. Why bother going all the way back out.” I drove toward home, yet turned on to the highway toward the marina without even realizing it. So I figured, “Okay, let’s try anyway.” On the way, I did see some tree tops moving and some waves forming on the lake. The wind was coming up.

That’s not the first time things like that have occurred to me. I’ve taken the “wrong” highway, ending up in the same place I was suppose to be, only by a different route, and only realizing it when I entered the destination from a different place than I’d recalled from the last time there. I knew it was the right “wrong” way, and wondered what was on the other route that I was prevented from taking: an accident that might delay me? an accident waiting for me? Don’t know. Some things just work out the way they do. Things happen.

At the dock, Cassandra, a Cape Dory Sailboat, was looking pretty good, despite needing her teak oiled and some yellow jackets buzzing around the mast. I’ve sealed off the places they used to build nests, but now they’d found a place under the mainsail cover that apparently suited them. Without ado, I cranked up the motor, cast off the lines, and backed out of the slip. The slip is located deep within a cove, off the lake. The water was calm, mostly clear, and I really wondered if it would be worth it going out. I motored slowly toward the mouth of the cove, rounded the shoreline, and was surprised to see another sailboat on the water, full sails, and moving along just fine. As I entered the lake, I could feel the wind now, coming out of the west. The cove is well protected from that direction, which is why it appeared not to be any wind at all.

Soon I shut off the motor, removed the sail cover, which made the few remaining yellow jackets take fly to another haven, and went forward to the mast where I raised the sail. Returning to the cockpit, I sheeted in the mainsail and began to slowly move ahead. Unfurling the jib to it’s full size, I gained further headway. Though the wind was light, under ten miles an hour, I easily made between three-and-a-half to four mph heading southwest about forty-five degrees off the wind. The light wind had very little gusting, and I easily trimmed the sails to point high enough to clear two small islands off to port, my left, and proceed up the lake toward Three Sisters Islands.

The wind began to vary in strength, and Cassandra responded, heeling about 15 degrees and leaping forward nearly to full hull speed of six miles per hour. This lasted five minutes or so and she would settle back down as the wind slowed. This process repeated many times along our route. An occasional gust or change in the direction of the wind did little to disturb Cassandra’s drive toward the islands, though it had me pulling in on the sheets to trim the sail a time or two. We went on this way, remaining on the same tack, that is with the sail to port and wind to starboard, to the right off the bow, for nearly two hours. Finally, we changed direction, tacking and rounding about near the island, then steering a course back toward the marina.

The entire time we were out, dark clouds moved slowly overhead, with only a few gaps where the sun could pop its head through to say, “Hello.” Only a few fishing boats hung around the shores, and one family towing kids on a tube behind a small powerboat sped happily past. One large cruiser moved quickly across my bow, leaving a large wake, which Cassandra bound over as if she were a horse jumping a fence. Or perhaps Cassandra was dreaming of the ocean, and the waves offshore. I think she wants to sail the seas, and only hope she’ll take me as her crew. The other sail boat I’d seen earlier came nearby once and we exchanged greetings as he rounded a buoy I’d just pasted, perhaps preparing for a race or just having fun. His two small children, bundled in life jackets, stood along the stern rail, and waved.

The sail, yesterday, was peaceful. It’s often like that during the week days, unlike the weekends when so many boaters are out. The clouds made it feel a little cooler, too, blocking the intense rays of the sun. It was a nice morning. I like the water, both lakes and ocean. I like being on the water and I like being in the water. I always have. There’s something soothing about the water. Water is unpredictable, too, untamed. Yet it brings me back to a peaceful place where I find a measure of refreshment. Spending some moments such as those yesterday, sailing, open my ears to hear what the Lord would speak to me through the His words recorded by the Apostle Paul so long ago:

I [Paul]therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of

the Spirit in the bond of peace.

Ephesians 4:1-3

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .