I appreciate all my blog readers as well as the talented authors that contact me for reviews. I enjoy reading, and writing reviews. I believe a review should not simply be a summary of the book- but a crtical and thorough analysis. Sadly, so many reviewers post short elementary grade level summaries and try to pass it off as a review. Worse yet, I've seen reviewers simply copy and paste the publisher's review from either the website, bookseller or even the back cover of the book itself! I believe that if an author asks me to read a book that he or she has devoted time to write, that writer deserves a well thought out unbiased review beyond an elementary school grade level effort.
Regretably, I do not post reviews on Amazon.com. I've tried but this comercial site restricts reviews to paying customers only. That means if you don't shop from Amazon you can not post reviews for a book (even if you read the book)- on their website. They don't even care what you buy as long as it is any purchase. According to Amazon policy - "You don't need to have purchased the product you're reviewing." It need not even be the book in question that you wish to review. Therefore Amazon can not present the argument that buying a book is proof you read the book. Apparently- its not buying a book, but buying products that makes one qualified to write a review. Personally, I don't have the luxury to be able to do online shopping- or any shopping for that matter. yet, I do not feel that my lack of spending ability dters me from writing reviews.
(Amazon policy is as follows: "To submit a customer review: you need to use an Amazon account that has successfully been charged for the purchase of a physical or digital item. Free digital downloads don't qualify. You don't need to have purchased the product you're reviewing. There's a 48-hour waiting period after your first physical order has been completely shipped, or your digital item has been purchased, before you'll be able to submit your review." )
I believe it is overly restrictive, and in fact is a disservice to customers who want to get honest high quality reviews from a variety of readers- not just those with enough money to buy from Amazon. In fact, Barnes and Noble and Christianbooks.com allow reviewers to post reviews even if they did not make a purchase.
I will be happy to offer a thorough and unbiased review- posted to my website to any author that requests. I will also submit the review to Barnes and Noble if the author requests, in addition to my blogsite. If the author has any other ideas or suggestions to post a review (that do not require making a purchase)- I am more than happy to post.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Comeback by Rick McDaniel
Comeback: Overcoming the Setbacks in Your Life by Rick McDaniel, is a short yet empowering book that guides the reader on how to overcome, despite the setbacks that may be faced. This simple to read and simple to understand book is the perfect outreach opportunity- especially for the young adults. While this book may not appeal to those seeking comfort for severe life issues- such as terminal illness or other life threatening scenarios- this book is sure to have mass appeal to many readers facing job loss, divorce, injuries or other issues. The setbacks of well known figures- historical and contemporary, are used to illustrate the concept of overcoming after a setback. Using the life stories of well known sports personalities, the author portrays that even the worst of setbacks: health issues, injuries, financial crisis and hardships, need not be an excuse to define one's life. In fact, the examples of comebacks provide real life scenarios, that overcoming is possible. Many readers will be drawn to the examples of famous figures they already know and respect. These contemporary and well known sports figures and entertainment personalities featured provide the perfect outreach method to draw in readeers, not normally exposed to spiritual concepts. Furthermore, Rick does not neglect to introduce the gospel message of salvation to the reader. Theologically, this book is not complicated, so if you are a theologen looking for insight into the purpose of evil- this book will not go into extensive detail. In contrast, this book is the perfect introduction to introduce a person to the gospel saving message. As Paul himself stated he became many things to many people for the purpose of delievering the gospel message- this book is perfect for young adults and sports fans. As a blogger I receieved this book for the purpose of writing this review - this book is published by Westbow Publishers, a division of Thomas Nelson.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
A Flash in the Night
It was the flash of light that first drew my attention to the window. I dismissed it as lightning at first. The usual evening’s activities kept me busy: dinner, homework projects and a movie and finally a long book. I think I even drifted off for a nap, I was so tired. It was late, and I was ready for bed. I was exhausted yet, I could not ignore the bright flickering light any longer, so after sending the kids to bed, I dutifully trudged back into to the living room. Behind the sofa, with growing haste, I pushed the curtain and dusty blinds aside, and practically pressed my face to the dusty pane of glass to get a better view at the night sky above. The taste of the cold bitterness of the filmy glass pane tainted my lips. Craning my neck beyond the image of the living room’s reflection in the glass, I took a quick look above- and immediately was filled with a surge of fear and dread. I was transfixed in shock, as I could not comprehend or describe what I saw. I could not believe my eyes and for a split second, tried to convince myself that I was dreaming. A quick glance around the room brought me back to reality- the new reality. It was not a dream. A lump formed in my throat as I observed horrific, strange, pulsating waves of bright yellow light in the atmosphere above and the bright flashes of light. There was a stark contrast between the glowing. yellow aura against the night sky. Ripples of slow moving, yellowish plasma appeared to roll across the evening sky. Far into the distance, the horizon appeared as bright as day as if the sun were rising- and it was still the middle of the night! I stood transfixed in terror for what seemed like forever- my thoughts were drawn to my two sleeping children in the other room.
Carefully I turned the squeaky knob to the bedroom door so as not to wake the two sleeping children. By now, the oppressive bright glow was filtering through the bedroom windows- casting an eerie dim glow into the bedroom. Thankfully they remained peacefully asleep. I sat down on the bunk below and watched my youngest, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the flashing light outside. I gently wiped a bead of moisture, glistening from the yellow light, with my hand- from his forehead. He did not wake. He was a heavy sleeper. At that time, I noticed it was uncharacteristically warm for a Spring evening- most likely attributed the atmospheric anomaly. Before long, I dreaded the heat would grow oppressively hot. I glanced around quickly in an attempt to absorb any information possible- trying in vain to come up with an explanation. I heard a soft spark, and a dreadful buzz. It was just as I imagined- the power in the house must be out. All the lights were off! And the only light, was the ominous yellow glow that loomed outside. A quick glance outside confirmed the global loss of power- and that the street lamps, sign lights and in fact all electricity in town was out as well. All I observed was the threatening bright light everywhere! By now it was almost as bright as the sun itself! My next quest, however predictable and uninspired, yet practical- was to get my cell phone. Stealthily, with renewed purpose I took a few steps into the kitchen and found it on the countertop. The sight of the cell phone gave me an initial burst of hope- yet it was false hope; there was no battery power. It was dead and apparently there was no reception either. My inability to place a call confirmed that the phone did not work and that I was completely detached from the outside world. Dejectedly I dropped the useless phone to the ground and purposelessly walked back into the kids’ bedroom. I felt lightheaded in fear. The sense of dread loomed over me like a wave.
By now it was almost as bright as day, and instinctively, my two sleepy- eyed children were stretching and yawning in their beds- eyes barely open, with outstretched arms asking, “is it morning, mom?” ….. just as if it were any other normal school morning. Transfixed, I stood in place with my eyes tightly closed, as I recalled those once dreaded early morning rushed routines where I would be getting my kids ready for school: clothes picked out, breakfast prepared, lunches bagged, dog- walked and then daycare and school drop offs and then finally the commute to work. And by the time I arrived at work, I was exhausted. Yet how I longed for those days; how I wished this was just another weekday morning. I could not believe how I used to dread those safe, predictable mornings. I almost made myself believe that the eerie glow was actually the warm sunlight on an early Tuesday morning- as I imagined it was time to prepare breakfast and get the kids ready for school. I could even imagine inhaling the scent of fruit flavored powder as I poured the fruit loops into a cereal bowl. I could feel the condensation of moisture and the weight of the cool gallon of milk as it was poured. I could see the eager cheerful smile as I handed his favorite green color changing spoon to my little boy at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, my older daughter would be brushing her hair and admonishing me for neglecting to feed the Sea Monkeys, yet again.
I wished that time could stand still, as I dreaded the explanation that I would have to give to my children, who were by now waiting expectantly on their beds as I stood transfixed into place with a glassy blank stare. How could I explain that it was not actually 7am, but the middle of the night? How could I explain the unexplainable aberration in words that would not frighten my children. In mere moments, they would learn the dreaded truth that it was not morning, and that something had gone terribly awry. They would learn that an atmospheric anomaly threatened our world- the planet where we live and call home. They would be faced with their own mortality as the progression of the events continued mercilessly through its course until the ultimate end. They would feel afraid, insecure and unsafe. I had to protect them, yet I myself felt powerless and vulnerable and alone. In an instant, various plausible scenarios and explanations flashed through my mind. I had to conjure up a believable and realistic explanation that would not illicit terror and fear- though I myself felt terror and fear. I could not tell them the awful truth that the sun was expanding, or that solar flares threatened to burn up the Earth to a smoky crisp. Would an eclipse be a believable explanation? Or could I just pass this off as Just another Tuesday morning? In my heart, I dreaded the reality that this in fact was the end, yet I felt that I had to protect my children.
Suddenly, the bouncing, energetic family hound interrupted my thoughts, drawing me back into reality as she ran into the bedroom, jumping on the bottom bunk. The dog’s presence offered a comforting sense of normalcy as she enthusiastically licked my younger one’s face. “Yuck!”, he exclaimed as he attempted to cover his face from dog slobber. My 11 year old daughter reluctantly climbed down from the top bunk and proceeded to the closet to select her clothes for the day. Then instinctively she walked into the kitchen, approached the counter, and dropped a small pinch of green powder into Sea Monkey container. “Mom…how long has it been since you fed these Sea Monkeys”, she reprimanded me. Clearly, both were oblivious to the strange, bright solar light that penetrated the house. And maybe it was for the best. “Umm… I thought I did, I don’t remember for sure”, I answered as usual.
By now, it was bright as day, and come to think about it, maybe it was day. I looked at the clock, and it was 7am. It was time for me to prepare breakfast, make lunches and walk the dog. Here I was standing around, not even dressed yet and I was running out of time if I didn’t want to be late for work.
This short story is based on the dream that I had last night.
Carefully I turned the squeaky knob to the bedroom door so as not to wake the two sleeping children. By now, the oppressive bright glow was filtering through the bedroom windows- casting an eerie dim glow into the bedroom. Thankfully they remained peacefully asleep. I sat down on the bunk below and watched my youngest, sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the flashing light outside. I gently wiped a bead of moisture, glistening from the yellow light, with my hand- from his forehead. He did not wake. He was a heavy sleeper. At that time, I noticed it was uncharacteristically warm for a Spring evening- most likely attributed the atmospheric anomaly. Before long, I dreaded the heat would grow oppressively hot. I glanced around quickly in an attempt to absorb any information possible- trying in vain to come up with an explanation. I heard a soft spark, and a dreadful buzz. It was just as I imagined- the power in the house must be out. All the lights were off! And the only light, was the ominous yellow glow that loomed outside. A quick glance outside confirmed the global loss of power- and that the street lamps, sign lights and in fact all electricity in town was out as well. All I observed was the threatening bright light everywhere! By now it was almost as bright as the sun itself! My next quest, however predictable and uninspired, yet practical- was to get my cell phone. Stealthily, with renewed purpose I took a few steps into the kitchen and found it on the countertop. The sight of the cell phone gave me an initial burst of hope- yet it was false hope; there was no battery power. It was dead and apparently there was no reception either. My inability to place a call confirmed that the phone did not work and that I was completely detached from the outside world. Dejectedly I dropped the useless phone to the ground and purposelessly walked back into the kids’ bedroom. I felt lightheaded in fear. The sense of dread loomed over me like a wave.
By now it was almost as bright as day, and instinctively, my two sleepy- eyed children were stretching and yawning in their beds- eyes barely open, with outstretched arms asking, “is it morning, mom?” ….. just as if it were any other normal school morning. Transfixed, I stood in place with my eyes tightly closed, as I recalled those once dreaded early morning rushed routines where I would be getting my kids ready for school: clothes picked out, breakfast prepared, lunches bagged, dog- walked and then daycare and school drop offs and then finally the commute to work. And by the time I arrived at work, I was exhausted. Yet how I longed for those days; how I wished this was just another weekday morning. I could not believe how I used to dread those safe, predictable mornings. I almost made myself believe that the eerie glow was actually the warm sunlight on an early Tuesday morning- as I imagined it was time to prepare breakfast and get the kids ready for school. I could even imagine inhaling the scent of fruit flavored powder as I poured the fruit loops into a cereal bowl. I could feel the condensation of moisture and the weight of the cool gallon of milk as it was poured. I could see the eager cheerful smile as I handed his favorite green color changing spoon to my little boy at the kitchen table. Meanwhile, my older daughter would be brushing her hair and admonishing me for neglecting to feed the Sea Monkeys, yet again.
I wished that time could stand still, as I dreaded the explanation that I would have to give to my children, who were by now waiting expectantly on their beds as I stood transfixed into place with a glassy blank stare. How could I explain that it was not actually 7am, but the middle of the night? How could I explain the unexplainable aberration in words that would not frighten my children. In mere moments, they would learn the dreaded truth that it was not morning, and that something had gone terribly awry. They would learn that an atmospheric anomaly threatened our world- the planet where we live and call home. They would be faced with their own mortality as the progression of the events continued mercilessly through its course until the ultimate end. They would feel afraid, insecure and unsafe. I had to protect them, yet I myself felt powerless and vulnerable and alone. In an instant, various plausible scenarios and explanations flashed through my mind. I had to conjure up a believable and realistic explanation that would not illicit terror and fear- though I myself felt terror and fear. I could not tell them the awful truth that the sun was expanding, or that solar flares threatened to burn up the Earth to a smoky crisp. Would an eclipse be a believable explanation? Or could I just pass this off as Just another Tuesday morning? In my heart, I dreaded the reality that this in fact was the end, yet I felt that I had to protect my children.
Suddenly, the bouncing, energetic family hound interrupted my thoughts, drawing me back into reality as she ran into the bedroom, jumping on the bottom bunk. The dog’s presence offered a comforting sense of normalcy as she enthusiastically licked my younger one’s face. “Yuck!”, he exclaimed as he attempted to cover his face from dog slobber. My 11 year old daughter reluctantly climbed down from the top bunk and proceeded to the closet to select her clothes for the day. Then instinctively she walked into the kitchen, approached the counter, and dropped a small pinch of green powder into Sea Monkey container. “Mom…how long has it been since you fed these Sea Monkeys”, she reprimanded me. Clearly, both were oblivious to the strange, bright solar light that penetrated the house. And maybe it was for the best. “Umm… I thought I did, I don’t remember for sure”, I answered as usual.
By now, it was bright as day, and come to think about it, maybe it was day. I looked at the clock, and it was 7am. It was time for me to prepare breakfast, make lunches and walk the dog. Here I was standing around, not even dressed yet and I was running out of time if I didn’t want to be late for work.
This short story is based on the dream that I had last night.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Where Lilacs Still Bloom by Jane Kirkpatrick
Even though the new novel, Where Lilacs Still Bloom by Jane Kirkpatrick may seem like just another romance story disguised as a historical work of fiction- this book is actually a historical fiction novel. I've read a number of books by contemporary writers that call their fiction books historical novels when they are nothing more than disguised romance novels. Perhaps by including a western themed setting or an Amish town, the many authors use a loophole to call the book historical. Yet, Jane Kirkpatrick's books, with its authentic details, actually live up to the genre of historical fiction.
The author does not rely on simplistic happily after after fairytale endings where the heroine gets married, has children and live happily after after. Her storylines, based on historical lives, show true heartache and misfortune, yet all the while, the imperfect characters are well developed moral characters with realistic personal flaws. Her noble casts of characters have more substance, than just to simply seek out romance and marriage.
The setting of this story may seem too simple and uneventful- a married woman with 4 kids living at the turn of the century, tends to her garden and experiments with producing a greater variety of lilacs. The years the woman, a German immigrant named Hulda, takes to develop a lighter shade of lilac with an increased number of petals, may appear to be trivial, costly and time consuming. And, in fact her hobby was perpetuated at the expense of purchasing a much needed motor vehicle in favor of a few silly imported lilac bulbs. As it turned out, just about half the bulbs were defective and therefore a waste of money. It is hard to believe her husband tolerated such behavior at the expense of more important issues of survival in a turn of the century home. In fact this issue is addressed when the characters wrestle with personal and financial hardships as either a direct or indirect result of her devotion to gardening. There are extraordinary circumstances- almost unbelievable- if it were not actually based on historical fact. There is the death of her two young son in laws, within one year apart, leaving her daughters young widows. Thereafter, during her long life, Hulda lives to bury just about all her children- two daughters and one son. One is left to wonder how a mother can outlive her children by so many years. In fact this is addressed by the suggestion that Hulda's intent for the pursuit of her trivial passion of gardening superceeded that for her children and husband and that her family's life revolved around the pursuit of making her comfortable and happy pleasing her every whim. The dysfunctional family was had a codependant relationship, and that she manipulated her family through a prolonged mental illness inorder to get their support for her gardening passion. As a reader I could not share the passion that Hulda had for her blooms. Nevertheless this was a very well written book with well developed characters and a good storyline. It was truly a good adaption of an actual historical figure into a novel. As a blogger for WaterBrook press I received this book from the publisher in order to write this review. The opinions expressed are my own.
The author does not rely on simplistic happily after after fairytale endings where the heroine gets married, has children and live happily after after. Her storylines, based on historical lives, show true heartache and misfortune, yet all the while, the imperfect characters are well developed moral characters with realistic personal flaws. Her noble casts of characters have more substance, than just to simply seek out romance and marriage.
The setting of this story may seem too simple and uneventful- a married woman with 4 kids living at the turn of the century, tends to her garden and experiments with producing a greater variety of lilacs. The years the woman, a German immigrant named Hulda, takes to develop a lighter shade of lilac with an increased number of petals, may appear to be trivial, costly and time consuming. And, in fact her hobby was perpetuated at the expense of purchasing a much needed motor vehicle in favor of a few silly imported lilac bulbs. As it turned out, just about half the bulbs were defective and therefore a waste of money. It is hard to believe her husband tolerated such behavior at the expense of more important issues of survival in a turn of the century home. In fact this issue is addressed when the characters wrestle with personal and financial hardships as either a direct or indirect result of her devotion to gardening. There are extraordinary circumstances- almost unbelievable- if it were not actually based on historical fact. There is the death of her two young son in laws, within one year apart, leaving her daughters young widows. Thereafter, during her long life, Hulda lives to bury just about all her children- two daughters and one son. One is left to wonder how a mother can outlive her children by so many years. In fact this is addressed by the suggestion that Hulda's intent for the pursuit of her trivial passion of gardening superceeded that for her children and husband and that her family's life revolved around the pursuit of making her comfortable and happy pleasing her every whim. The dysfunctional family was had a codependant relationship, and that she manipulated her family through a prolonged mental illness inorder to get their support for her gardening passion. As a reader I could not share the passion that Hulda had for her blooms. Nevertheless this was a very well written book with well developed characters and a good storyline. It was truly a good adaption of an actual historical figure into a novel. As a blogger for WaterBrook press I received this book from the publisher in order to write this review. The opinions expressed are my own.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
The Necessity of an Enemy: How the Battle You Face Is Your Best Opportunity
The Necessity of an Enemy: How the Battle You Face Is Your Best Opportunity
byRon Carpenter is among the most motivating books that I have recently read. Ron Carpenter challanges rthe way we view blessings and God's favor. In contrast to common belief, comfortable living and financial prosperity and health are not always signs of God's favor. Just because your life is "good" does not mean it is because you found favor with God. It might actually mean the opposite! In fact the reverse may be true! Those so called "blessings" may mean that you are spiritually dead and that satan feels no need to bother with you because he has already won you over! The author address real issues- true enemies, tangible, spiritual and circumstantial- job loss, financial and professional ruin, slander, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances. If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you. What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book. But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, and true hardships and adversity, then this book will offer the strength you need.
The author writes in an animated, personal easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. He went through serious hardship and he shares his personal experience candidly with the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. For example David had his Goliath, Job had his adversary, and you have yours- he explains that bible heroes had enemies. He even explained that Judas was a neccessary enemy for Jesus to accomplish the will of God. In fact, he claims that Peter- a so called "friend" actually at times attempted to hinder God's greater purpose.
His use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense the author illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via the author , one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Water Brook publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
byRon Carpenter is among the most motivating books that I have recently read. Ron Carpenter challanges rthe way we view blessings and God's favor. In contrast to common belief, comfortable living and financial prosperity and health are not always signs of God's favor. Just because your life is "good" does not mean it is because you found favor with God. It might actually mean the opposite! In fact the reverse may be true! Those so called "blessings" may mean that you are spiritually dead and that satan feels no need to bother with you because he has already won you over! The author address real issues- true enemies, tangible, spiritual and circumstantial- job loss, financial and professional ruin, slander, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances. If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you. What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book. But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, and true hardships and adversity, then this book will offer the strength you need.
The author writes in an animated, personal easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. He went through serious hardship and he shares his personal experience candidly with the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. For example David had his Goliath, Job had his adversary, and you have yours- he explains that bible heroes had enemies. He even explained that Judas was a neccessary enemy for Jesus to accomplish the will of God. In fact, he claims that Peter- a so called "friend" actually at times attempted to hinder God's greater purpose.
His use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense the author illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via the author , one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Water Brook publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
He Chose the Nails by Max Lucado
He Chose the Nails by Max Lucado By Max Lucado is among the most inspirational and motivating books that I have recently read. That can be said about almost all of Lucado's books, actually. This book specifically impresses upon the reader the enormous sacrifice Jesus offered each and every one of us. It brings to life, the experiences that Jesus faced on the cross for each one of us- the cold painful nails, the sharp thorns and the splintered wood. Adjectives and description brings this sacrifice to animated life- in vivid detail. It helps those who are enduring really difficult times, to endure and persevere.
The beginning of this book had a slow start, with Lucado's analogy of the painstaking process of finding his wife the perfect gift. I found there was too much detail. Yet I am sure many economically "gifted" or comfortable readers can relate. At times, he is a bit self serving in addressing the issues of financial prosperity and comfort in life that he and many readers are lucky enough to enjoy. Yet, Lucado puts his God given resources to good use- there is no doubt about that! He uses his economic gifts and wisdom to help countless readers. Pehaps if Lucado was not in a comfortable financial position, he would not have the practical resources and time to be able to deliver his wisdom to the masses. Personally, I could not afford to buy his books, and I assume that much of the readership that actually read his books are upper middleclass that can afford to buy his books and have the luxury of time to dedicate to read- but I am thankfully they are offered free to bloggers so that not only the economically advantaged have access to his wisdom.
The author address real issues- job loss, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances. If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you. What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book. But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, then this book will offer the comfort you need.
In true Lucado fashion, Max writes in an animated, easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. "Catch God in a bad mood? Won't happen. Fear exhausting his grace? A sardine will swallow the Atlantic first. Think he's given up on you?" ..... Lucado's use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand Max Lucado's books. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense Max Lucado illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via Max Lucado, one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are a theologen, looking for an apologetic defense on the purpose of depending on God then this book isn't for you. But, if on the other hand you are simply looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Thomas Nelson publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
The beginning of this book had a slow start, with Lucado's analogy of the painstaking process of finding his wife the perfect gift. I found there was too much detail. Yet I am sure many economically "gifted" or comfortable readers can relate. At times, he is a bit self serving in addressing the issues of financial prosperity and comfort in life that he and many readers are lucky enough to enjoy. Yet, Lucado puts his God given resources to good use- there is no doubt about that! He uses his economic gifts and wisdom to help countless readers. Pehaps if Lucado was not in a comfortable financial position, he would not have the practical resources and time to be able to deliver his wisdom to the masses. Personally, I could not afford to buy his books, and I assume that much of the readership that actually read his books are upper middleclass that can afford to buy his books and have the luxury of time to dedicate to read- but I am thankfully they are offered free to bloggers so that not only the economically advantaged have access to his wisdom.
The author address real issues- job loss, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances. If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you. What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book. But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, then this book will offer the comfort you need.
In true Lucado fashion, Max writes in an animated, easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. "Catch God in a bad mood? Won't happen. Fear exhausting his grace? A sardine will swallow the Atlantic first. Think he's given up on you?" ..... Lucado's use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand Max Lucado's books. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense Max Lucado illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via Max Lucado, one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are a theologen, looking for an apologetic defense on the purpose of depending on God then this book isn't for you. But, if on the other hand you are simply looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Thomas Nelson publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick
I normally don't enjoy fiction novels, not even those under the umbrella called the "Christian" genre. Most "Christian" novels are either Amish love stories or just simply romance stories in general. Even the genre "historical" fiction usually is another name for a romance novel that takes place either in Amish country or in the 1800s out west. I usually find them dull, predictable and uninspired. The Daughter's Walk by Jane Kirkpatrick is quite different. True to its claim, it actually is to be considered a historical fiction novel True details about society's standards, the townspeople and technologies are faithfully included. Even the descriptions of towns, characters and circumstances are well researched right to the very last little detail. Historical facts and accuracy enlighten the reader as well as add to the authenticity. This book held my attention from the start. It was not a chore to read. Furthermore, the course of the story and its events were unexpected and as well as the ending. Unlike typical books, in which there is a typical fairy tale happy ending in which the heroine gets married and has children, this story an a non traditional happy ending where as the heroine, a strong, independant woman, remained strong, independant and single despite disspointements, rejection and financial hardship. This book brought on a new twist to society's perception of a happy ending.
The author challenges the common social view of the mother- parent relationship. The mother, Helga Estby, is portrayed as impulsive, enthusiastic and strong- willed woman. She is willing to confront and change society's standard of the role of women. In contrast, the daughter is more level headed, and reistant to change. Clara, the eighteen year old daughter often questions and admonishes her mother for what she deems to be irresponsible and impulsive choices. Yet her 19th century sense of duty and loyalty ensures that she will obey and follow her mother. There is no disrespect or refusal. Both the mother and daughter have distinct yet strong moral characters and a strong sense of familial duty, even though the expression is vastly different.
This is the story of an adventure that a mother embarks in order to save the family farm from forclosure. There is risk and danger involved- physical and emotional as well, yet hope drives Helga to pursue the course. Though she is hesitant, Clara goes with her mother out of a sense of duty. The story chronicles their adventures and interactions with the 19th century world around them. A map chronicles the path of their journey. I found myself turning to the map in order to get a preview of how far into their journey that they were. Yet, the story doesn't have the traditional happy ending as the author and her family are faced by disapointments and hardships. As a blogger for WaterBrook publishers I received this book for the purpose of writing this review. the opinions expressed are my own.
The author challenges the common social view of the mother- parent relationship. The mother, Helga Estby, is portrayed as impulsive, enthusiastic and strong- willed woman. She is willing to confront and change society's standard of the role of women. In contrast, the daughter is more level headed, and reistant to change. Clara, the eighteen year old daughter often questions and admonishes her mother for what she deems to be irresponsible and impulsive choices. Yet her 19th century sense of duty and loyalty ensures that she will obey and follow her mother. There is no disrespect or refusal. Both the mother and daughter have distinct yet strong moral characters and a strong sense of familial duty, even though the expression is vastly different.
This is the story of an adventure that a mother embarks in order to save the family farm from forclosure. There is risk and danger involved- physical and emotional as well, yet hope drives Helga to pursue the course. Though she is hesitant, Clara goes with her mother out of a sense of duty. The story chronicles their adventures and interactions with the 19th century world around them. A map chronicles the path of their journey. I found myself turning to the map in order to get a preview of how far into their journey that they were. Yet, the story doesn't have the traditional happy ending as the author and her family are faced by disapointments and hardships. As a blogger for WaterBrook publishers I received this book for the purpose of writing this review. the opinions expressed are my own.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
As One Devil to Another
As One Devil to Another: A Fiendish Correspondence in the Tradition of C. S. Lewis' the Screwtape Letters by Richard Platt was an eye opening work of fiction that gives a unique fantasy type of first person view of the Devil's activities. Even if a reader is not familiar with the well known original work of C.S. Lewis, this book is sure to be entertaining as well as informative.
A young woman's life is used as a spring board where the author, Richard Platt, interjects his views concerning the flaws of modernsociety. For example, when explaining her manner of dress or her prideful personality, the author follows with a brief historical analysis of society's transformation in recent years to materialism and individuality. The dark side of women's liberation is exposed whereas women simply become tools and physical beauty is misused for manipulation and gain. Women eventually are percieved by society to outlive their usefulness as they age and physical beauty declines. The author recognises rather than liberation, women are in bondage to society's petty standards. Platt follows the life of a typical, ordinary young woman who is a college student. He follows through the typical scenarios that her course of life may lead&the possible interventions that the Devil may intervene.
Platt makes valid observations on the excessive materialism, greed, competition and flaws of society in general. He discusses the hidden yet real dangers of consumerism, and media as well as liberal academics and the relatavism. He follows the progression of society's modern, yet flawed value systems. He uses vivid detail to descrive how sinister spirits may intervene, unknowingly, to steer a person away from genuine faith in God.
Personally I enjoyed the book, but I would have preferred if the author chose a different "client", rather than the stereotypical young female in college. I feel that this choice of heroine alienates the majority of the readership that most likely will be drawn to this book. Perhaps the author could have chosen a more mature or older adult hero that the readers could relate to. The scenario presented by the author is typical- the young, self centered, intelligent college student learns humilty from her spiritual aunt. She attends bible study and meets a wholseome young man who she eventually marries, thus escaping the cluthes of Satan. The woman faces very few hardships that actually test her faith in the first place. Having found a suitor for marrriage, she finds herself surrounded by friendly Christians that challange her yet also support and encourage her. Even though the author's analysis and commentary is right on target concerning the dangers that so many people are quite oblivious to, the characters are typical.
I would like to see this author expand on this "reality" styled genre of demonic correspondance to include more varied characters. I enjoyed this book very much, despite the fact that I would have prefered a different less stereotypical character. The vintage styled cartoons add a unique and unexpected element to the book.
As a blogger for Tyndale I recieved this book for the purpose of writing this review. the opinions expressed are my own.
Chance to win your own copy....... Tyndale publishers provided me with a certificate that may be reedemed to obtain a free copy of this book. I will award this certificate a person, chosen at random, who comments on this blog.
A young woman's life is used as a spring board where the author, Richard Platt, interjects his views concerning the flaws of modernsociety. For example, when explaining her manner of dress or her prideful personality, the author follows with a brief historical analysis of society's transformation in recent years to materialism and individuality. The dark side of women's liberation is exposed whereas women simply become tools and physical beauty is misused for manipulation and gain. Women eventually are percieved by society to outlive their usefulness as they age and physical beauty declines. The author recognises rather than liberation, women are in bondage to society's petty standards. Platt follows the life of a typical, ordinary young woman who is a college student. He follows through the typical scenarios that her course of life may lead&the possible interventions that the Devil may intervene.
Platt makes valid observations on the excessive materialism, greed, competition and flaws of society in general. He discusses the hidden yet real dangers of consumerism, and media as well as liberal academics and the relatavism. He follows the progression of society's modern, yet flawed value systems. He uses vivid detail to descrive how sinister spirits may intervene, unknowingly, to steer a person away from genuine faith in God.
Personally I enjoyed the book, but I would have preferred if the author chose a different "client", rather than the stereotypical young female in college. I feel that this choice of heroine alienates the majority of the readership that most likely will be drawn to this book. Perhaps the author could have chosen a more mature or older adult hero that the readers could relate to. The scenario presented by the author is typical- the young, self centered, intelligent college student learns humilty from her spiritual aunt. She attends bible study and meets a wholseome young man who she eventually marries, thus escaping the cluthes of Satan. The woman faces very few hardships that actually test her faith in the first place. Having found a suitor for marrriage, she finds herself surrounded by friendly Christians that challange her yet also support and encourage her. Even though the author's analysis and commentary is right on target concerning the dangers that so many people are quite oblivious to, the characters are typical.
I would like to see this author expand on this "reality" styled genre of demonic correspondance to include more varied characters. I enjoyed this book very much, despite the fact that I would have prefered a different less stereotypical character. The vintage styled cartoons add a unique and unexpected element to the book.
As a blogger for Tyndale I recieved this book for the purpose of writing this review. the opinions expressed are my own.
Chance to win your own copy....... Tyndale publishers provided me with a certificate that may be reedemed to obtain a free copy of this book. I will award this certificate a person, chosen at random, who comments on this blog.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Quiet by Susan Cain
Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking by Susan Cain, is a new book that focuses on a particular mood/ personality trait. This book reminds me of the work that a psychology student may submit in a college course. This simple to understand dissertation is a hybrid between a trade book and a psychology textbook. This book is not considered casual. light reading, yet its simple, easy to understand writing style and the personal anecdotes, makes this subject easy to understand by laymen.
It is great to see the author, Susuan Cain, give a positive voice to an under represented sector of society that is frequently judged and mnisunderstood. Quiet people, in general are considered to be substandard in today's extroverted and materialistic society. In fact the author dispells common, long standing, damadging myths held by society concerning individuals with a quiet nature. With a combination of scholarly, yet easy to understand language, the author communicates to the reader that there is much more to the quiet personality than society believes. This thought provocing book is certain to make the reader perhaps question his own biases or attitudes.
As a blogger for Walternomah publishers I recieved this book published by the Crown publishing group. I believe this is a good book for anyone to check out and read if it is available in the library. Yet, those who actually wish to invest the money or purchase this book most likely will be psychology students or anyone who practices in psychiatry. The opinions expressed in this review are my own.
It is great to see the author, Susuan Cain, give a positive voice to an under represented sector of society that is frequently judged and mnisunderstood. Quiet people, in general are considered to be substandard in today's extroverted and materialistic society. In fact the author dispells common, long standing, damadging myths held by society concerning individuals with a quiet nature. With a combination of scholarly, yet easy to understand language, the author communicates to the reader that there is much more to the quiet personality than society believes. This thought provocing book is certain to make the reader perhaps question his own biases or attitudes.
As a blogger for Walternomah publishers I recieved this book published by the Crown publishing group. I believe this is a good book for anyone to check out and read if it is available in the library. Yet, those who actually wish to invest the money or purchase this book most likely will be psychology students or anyone who practices in psychiatry. The opinions expressed in this review are my own.
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
The real world.
Please excuse the typos as a result of my haste in posting this... hopefully I corrected them.
I don't find TV entertaining, nor do I find it to be a distraction from life's worries. How could I find such a shallow, materialistic form of entretainment to be soothing or comforting? Why would I choose to immerse myself in a world where I am told I am too old, or too sick or not fashoionable enough or succesful enough? Rather than entertaining, I find today's media to be alienating and shallow, and discouraging. After watching TV I feels discouraged and inadequate. Maybe I am prone to low self esteem or I have issues with depression. Regardless, I can't stand it.
I am so sick and tired of this disgusting, filthy, hypocritical and duplistic world filled with greed, and selfish ambition, inequity and pain; suffering and death. This is a world where the well to do justify their wealth and their greedy excess saying that they worked hard and earned it- while many go to bed hungry, dressing in hand-me-downs and rags and all the while go without basic healthcare. The media portrays wealth and selfish ambition as the height of achievement. Television commercials and society place more value on the latest electronic gadget than in human beings. Parents place more priority in providing their children with the latest smartphone or expensive Disney Land trips than in moral values or books. In fact we live in an entitled, distorted society where a child who goes without a smartphone or who has never been on a theme cruise is made to feel deprived. Dysfunctional, broken families and immoral relationships are glorified on TV shows, movies and reality shows, as selfish ambition and self centeredness is portrayed as the norm. Expensive, self centered, self help programs are on the rise. Today's society and culture places value on what should be considered junk, and what is truly junk, is deemed valuable.
I am so sick of self righteous hypocrites. While people are tortured and killed for their political and religious beliefs in third world nations, women belly-ache and complain because they don't have the right shoes or expensive purse or a mansion. Even the luke-warm, dull devotioals in my "NLT Sanctuary" bible annoy me as they are largely written by uninspired, wealthy women who have the means and luxury to stay at home. These so-called "inspirational, thinking" women have nothing more important to think about than to contemplate on making crafts, preparing dinner or homeschooling their children. For them, a bad day is when their husband comes home late, missing a shoe sale, or their dinner is overcooked, or a stubborn grass stain won't come out of a soccer uniform. These same phony "Christians" have the financial means to "sacrifice" money on "spiritual" retreats and getaways, so they can feel return feeling, refreshed, and "holy" and "pius". They go on expensive "fasts", consuming small quantities of expensive gourmet, yet healthy organic food, under the guise of self- sacrifice, when in actuality, they simply want to lose weight. The thought would never cross my mind to throw out a bible, but I am tempted to dicard my "devotional" bible, where God's inspired word is embellished and tainted by frivoulous and uninspired materialism. For each person that spends the day pampered in expensive, luxurious spas, getting pedicures there are countless human beings, that languish in pain and hunger and filth. Countless numbers suffer with terminal conditions and debilitating pain from diseases such as cancer and ALS. For every healthfood snob that will only eat organic, or expensive gourmet meals, or five dollar gourmet cofees, there are countless others who are so hungry that they will eat stale cereal or bread because they must fill their hungry bellies with whatever edible food they can find. For every pampered pet that gets groomed, trained in obediance academy, and has fancy gourmet food, and periodic vet visits, lyme disease vaccines and hearworm pills, there are children who go without nutritious food, clean water, vaccines and antibiotics. And there are countless hard working parents scraping by with multiple jobs and low wages, who die for want of healthcare. People spend endless hours fundraising for endless frivolous causes, sporting organizations and other humaitarian and social causes to feel good about themselves, when it is simply a disguised effort to provide for their own greedy wants and tainted consciouses. Many fans cry at the so- called hardship endured when a "misunderstood" drug abusing, wealthy popstar or famous model is found dead in a luxurious hotel room, yet the memories of the unknown, tortured prisoners of war or missing and exploited children are not even remembered.
Churched and religious people protest and defend the rights of the unborn and the aborted yet neglect the needs of many women who are griefstricken and in true need from pregnancy loss. I am a pro-lifer- I even had my own prolife website in college. Yet at least the unborn have the comfort of going to heaven and seing the face of the Lord if they die. As Job said in the old testament "Why wasn't I born dead? Why didn't I die as I came from the womb? I would be asleep and at rest." Yet these same very people who advocate the rights of the unborn, write letters and picket at clinics, neglect the pain of the mother whose child had died in a miscarriage or a stillbirth. Little do they know that the same medical procedures performed for abortions, must also be performed on grieving mothers who suffer from incomplete miscarriages or stillbirths. In fact the health complications and financial cost burden is even greater for these later term procedures than for early term abortions. So, on top of medical costs and health complications, a grieving mom is also at greater risk for depression and prolonged grief. It is true that legislation can not impact pregnancy loss, yet a woman's life and well being is no less significant than an unborn life. These same "advocates" who push their beliefs and money to healthy, young women seeking abortions, who often do not want help- and prefer privacy and anonymity, are oblvious to the needs and loss experienced by a mother who has lost her child due to terminal illness or perhaps even a tragic crime or accident. What about those women who must endure a forced abortion in while in her eigth or even ninth month of pregnancy- as she is forced to have her child violently and forcibly torn from her womb against her will, simply because of her beliefs, or her race or her nationality- which was known to happen during the holacaust and still happens to many political prisoners in many nations. There hundreds of thousands of women in third world nations, with no access to minimal healthcare- who often die when they endure unrelived labor with no medical intervention. Without the available services that many take for granted here, many women suffer obstretic fistuals and still-births after three or more days of succesive, tortuous unrelieved labor. These women, if they do survive, are neglected- left to suffer in anonymity, grief and shame, while tons of money and support and free healthcare and counseling are offered to a healthy young woman considering abortion. Perhaps I am a bit repetitious, but I feel these words need to be written.
There is more to learn in the written world whether it is in print or even the virtual world of the internet. Furthermore, I gain more empathy for my fellow man by reading a book- even a science or text book, or even browsing the internet or reading the news- where I can get a glimpse of the real world- with its poverty, illness, crime and death. Oftentimes I use the daily news as a springboard to continue my education concerning the realities of this world. There are men and women enduring debilitating and terminal illnesses: cancer, ALS, paralysis! So many can not even get out of their own beds as their failing and weakend bodies have betrayed them. Some cannot even breathe on their own and must live on a vent- with the constant fear of death looming. There are parents whose lives are a living nightmare, whose child has gone missing- never to be heard from again, or grief stricken women who have lost a child from still birth or SIDS. Millions starve to death, or die from a lack of basic antibiotics. I can scroll satellite images of the dirty, desolate, cardboard and tin shacks that impoverished families must live in halfway across the world over the virtual maps available on the internet. It makes me wonder what else they must lack- food? Water? Healthcare? I learn that not everyone lives in a mansion- yet from watching modern day tv you would think anyone who didn't live in a three story mansion with a well manicured lawn and indoor pool was deprived. Many people are still tortured for their political or religious beliefs. We can't take anything for granted- our freedom of speech, the food we eat, our health.... not even the air we breath- because there are countless souls out there starving, suffering, dying and grieving! I learn these things from reading about the world and living in the world. I try to meditate on the experiences that others go through who must endure hardships and trials more difficult than my own. Television tells me I am not young enough, or thin enough, or healthy enough, or wealthy or succesful or talented.... My first reaction might be self pity. Yes it is true I don't have a succesful, exciting career, large home, expensive shoes or exotic vacations......yet I am thankful nevertheless because I feel as if I have everything I need and more! Observation of the realities of this world, tell me that I am fortunate, and that I should be thankful. These are the realities of this world- not expensive Coach bags, days being pampered at the spa, hi-tech internet phones or Disney Land cruises! People need to take the blinders off and wake up to reality. The movies, and shows on the media portray a fantasy world that so few are able to enjoy- it actually makes me sick even to watch most TV shows. People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition.
I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21
I don't find TV entertaining, nor do I find it to be a distraction from life's worries. How could I find such a shallow, materialistic form of entretainment to be soothing or comforting? Why would I choose to immerse myself in a world where I am told I am too old, or too sick or not fashoionable enough or succesful enough? Rather than entertaining, I find today's media to be alienating and shallow, and discouraging. After watching TV I feels discouraged and inadequate. Maybe I am prone to low self esteem or I have issues with depression. Regardless, I can't stand it.
I am so sick and tired of this disgusting, filthy, hypocritical and duplistic world filled with greed, and selfish ambition, inequity and pain; suffering and death. This is a world where the well to do justify their wealth and their greedy excess saying that they worked hard and earned it- while many go to bed hungry, dressing in hand-me-downs and rags and all the while go without basic healthcare. The media portrays wealth and selfish ambition as the height of achievement. Television commercials and society place more value on the latest electronic gadget than in human beings. Parents place more priority in providing their children with the latest smartphone or expensive Disney Land trips than in moral values or books. In fact we live in an entitled, distorted society where a child who goes without a smartphone or who has never been on a theme cruise is made to feel deprived. Dysfunctional, broken families and immoral relationships are glorified on TV shows, movies and reality shows, as selfish ambition and self centeredness is portrayed as the norm. Expensive, self centered, self help programs are on the rise. Today's society and culture places value on what should be considered junk, and what is truly junk, is deemed valuable.
I am so sick of self righteous hypocrites. While people are tortured and killed for their political and religious beliefs in third world nations, women belly-ache and complain because they don't have the right shoes or expensive purse or a mansion. Even the luke-warm, dull devotioals in my "NLT Sanctuary" bible annoy me as they are largely written by uninspired, wealthy women who have the means and luxury to stay at home. These so-called "inspirational, thinking" women have nothing more important to think about than to contemplate on making crafts, preparing dinner or homeschooling their children. For them, a bad day is when their husband comes home late, missing a shoe sale, or their dinner is overcooked, or a stubborn grass stain won't come out of a soccer uniform. These same phony "Christians" have the financial means to "sacrifice" money on "spiritual" retreats and getaways, so they can feel return feeling, refreshed, and "holy" and "pius". They go on expensive "fasts", consuming small quantities of expensive gourmet, yet healthy organic food, under the guise of self- sacrifice, when in actuality, they simply want to lose weight. The thought would never cross my mind to throw out a bible, but I am tempted to dicard my "devotional" bible, where God's inspired word is embellished and tainted by frivoulous and uninspired materialism. For each person that spends the day pampered in expensive, luxurious spas, getting pedicures there are countless human beings, that languish in pain and hunger and filth. Countless numbers suffer with terminal conditions and debilitating pain from diseases such as cancer and ALS. For every healthfood snob that will only eat organic, or expensive gourmet meals, or five dollar gourmet cofees, there are countless others who are so hungry that they will eat stale cereal or bread because they must fill their hungry bellies with whatever edible food they can find. For every pampered pet that gets groomed, trained in obediance academy, and has fancy gourmet food, and periodic vet visits, lyme disease vaccines and hearworm pills, there are children who go without nutritious food, clean water, vaccines and antibiotics. And there are countless hard working parents scraping by with multiple jobs and low wages, who die for want of healthcare. People spend endless hours fundraising for endless frivolous causes, sporting organizations and other humaitarian and social causes to feel good about themselves, when it is simply a disguised effort to provide for their own greedy wants and tainted consciouses. Many fans cry at the so- called hardship endured when a "misunderstood" drug abusing, wealthy popstar or famous model is found dead in a luxurious hotel room, yet the memories of the unknown, tortured prisoners of war or missing and exploited children are not even remembered.
Churched and religious people protest and defend the rights of the unborn and the aborted yet neglect the needs of many women who are griefstricken and in true need from pregnancy loss. I am a pro-lifer- I even had my own prolife website in college. Yet at least the unborn have the comfort of going to heaven and seing the face of the Lord if they die. As Job said in the old testament "Why wasn't I born dead? Why didn't I die as I came from the womb? I would be asleep and at rest." Yet these same very people who advocate the rights of the unborn, write letters and picket at clinics, neglect the pain of the mother whose child had died in a miscarriage or a stillbirth. Little do they know that the same medical procedures performed for abortions, must also be performed on grieving mothers who suffer from incomplete miscarriages or stillbirths. In fact the health complications and financial cost burden is even greater for these later term procedures than for early term abortions. So, on top of medical costs and health complications, a grieving mom is also at greater risk for depression and prolonged grief. It is true that legislation can not impact pregnancy loss, yet a woman's life and well being is no less significant than an unborn life. These same "advocates" who push their beliefs and money to healthy, young women seeking abortions, who often do not want help- and prefer privacy and anonymity, are oblvious to the needs and loss experienced by a mother who has lost her child due to terminal illness or perhaps even a tragic crime or accident. What about those women who must endure a forced abortion in while in her eigth or even ninth month of pregnancy- as she is forced to have her child violently and forcibly torn from her womb against her will, simply because of her beliefs, or her race or her nationality- which was known to happen during the holacaust and still happens to many political prisoners in many nations. There hundreds of thousands of women in third world nations, with no access to minimal healthcare- who often die when they endure unrelived labor with no medical intervention. Without the available services that many take for granted here, many women suffer obstretic fistuals and still-births after three or more days of succesive, tortuous unrelieved labor. These women, if they do survive, are neglected- left to suffer in anonymity, grief and shame, while tons of money and support and free healthcare and counseling are offered to a healthy young woman considering abortion. Perhaps I am a bit repetitious, but I feel these words need to be written.
There is more to learn in the written world whether it is in print or even the virtual world of the internet. Furthermore, I gain more empathy for my fellow man by reading a book- even a science or text book, or even browsing the internet or reading the news- where I can get a glimpse of the real world- with its poverty, illness, crime and death. Oftentimes I use the daily news as a springboard to continue my education concerning the realities of this world. There are men and women enduring debilitating and terminal illnesses: cancer, ALS, paralysis! So many can not even get out of their own beds as their failing and weakend bodies have betrayed them. Some cannot even breathe on their own and must live on a vent- with the constant fear of death looming. There are parents whose lives are a living nightmare, whose child has gone missing- never to be heard from again, or grief stricken women who have lost a child from still birth or SIDS. Millions starve to death, or die from a lack of basic antibiotics. I can scroll satellite images of the dirty, desolate, cardboard and tin shacks that impoverished families must live in halfway across the world over the virtual maps available on the internet. It makes me wonder what else they must lack- food? Water? Healthcare? I learn that not everyone lives in a mansion- yet from watching modern day tv you would think anyone who didn't live in a three story mansion with a well manicured lawn and indoor pool was deprived. Many people are still tortured for their political or religious beliefs. We can't take anything for granted- our freedom of speech, the food we eat, our health.... not even the air we breath- because there are countless souls out there starving, suffering, dying and grieving! I learn these things from reading about the world and living in the world. I try to meditate on the experiences that others go through who must endure hardships and trials more difficult than my own. Television tells me I am not young enough, or thin enough, or healthy enough, or wealthy or succesful or talented.... My first reaction might be self pity. Yes it is true I don't have a succesful, exciting career, large home, expensive shoes or exotic vacations......yet I am thankful nevertheless because I feel as if I have everything I need and more! Observation of the realities of this world, tell me that I am fortunate, and that I should be thankful. These are the realities of this world- not expensive Coach bags, days being pampered at the spa, hi-tech internet phones or Disney Land cruises! People need to take the blinders off and wake up to reality. The movies, and shows on the media portray a fantasy world that so few are able to enjoy- it actually makes me sick even to watch most TV shows. People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition.
I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21
Monday, March 12, 2012
Great Day Every Day by Max Lucado
Great Day Every Day by Max Lucado By Max Lucado is among the most uplifting books that I have recently read. This book specifically helps those who are enduring really difcult times, to endure and persevere. The author address real issues- job loss, terminal illness, grief and loss. This book is designed to help those who are suffering from extreme circumstances. This book offers real help! If you are bellyaching because you burned your husband's dinner, or the grass stain won't come out of the soccer uniform, or if missed an apointment for your pedicure, or your favorite coach bag sold out before you reached the mall, then this book isn't for you. What you need is a fluffy, superficial, condescending, feel- good, women's devotional book. But, if you truly suffer from life's heartaches, then this book will offer the comfort you need.
This is a book I have read and re read. Its readily available on my bookshelf when I need to turn to it in a time of need or crisis. Its simple and to the point, bible truths are communicated in an easy to digest form for those who are too stressed or grief stricken to focus. Additional features reinforce the truths. I found these study helps and devotional excerpts very helpful in times of stress in my life. Job troubles, money problems and health issues, id turn to the discussion guide and 30 day day changer sections for renewed spiritual fuel. This book is like three resources in one book. Its small size may seem deceptively simple. Yet the different resources serve to reinforce the reality of bible truth and guide the reader in prayer and reflection.
In true Lucado fashion, Max writes in an animated, easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. "Catch God in a bad mood? Won't happen. Fear exhausting his grace? A sardine will swallow the Atlantic first. Think he's given up on you?" ..... Lucado's use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand Max Lucado's books. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense Max Lucado illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via Max Lucado, one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are a theologen, looking for an apologetic defense on the purpose of depending on God then this book isn't for you. But, if on the other hand you are simply looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Thomas Nelson publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
This is a book I have read and re read. Its readily available on my bookshelf when I need to turn to it in a time of need or crisis. Its simple and to the point, bible truths are communicated in an easy to digest form for those who are too stressed or grief stricken to focus. Additional features reinforce the truths. I found these study helps and devotional excerpts very helpful in times of stress in my life. Job troubles, money problems and health issues, id turn to the discussion guide and 30 day day changer sections for renewed spiritual fuel. This book is like three resources in one book. Its small size may seem deceptively simple. Yet the different resources serve to reinforce the reality of bible truth and guide the reader in prayer and reflection.
In true Lucado fashion, Max writes in an animated, easy to understand style that communicates biblical truths to the reader. His books bring bible stories and biblical truth to life in an inspirational way that speaks out to the reader. "Catch God in a bad mood? Won't happen. Fear exhausting his grace? A sardine will swallow the Atlantic first. Think he's given up on you?" ..... Lucado's use of colorful language and his conversational tone, make it so that biblical truths are memorable and meaningful to the average modern reader. You need not be a theologen, educated in an expensive seminary or college to understand Max Lucado's books. This inspirational book will be certain to leave the reader with a lasting impression. In today's self centered society, without offense Max Lucado illustrates the importance of living life based on biblical principles. After reading this book, and really meditating on the biblical truths communicated via Max Lucado, one can feel a renewed sense of embpowerment to live a selfless life style. Max makes use of personal anecdotes as well as bible stories to illiustrate the importance of depending on God rather than on the material things of this world. If you are a theologen, looking for an apologetic defense on the purpose of depending on God then this book isn't for you. But, if on the other hand you are simply looking for bible based motivation and a relief in a world that takes pride in materialism, selfish ambition and competition, then this book is perfect. As a blogger for booksneeze, I receive books from Thomas Nelson publishers in exchange for writing an honest review. The opinions expressed are my own.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Fleamarket at the Old Chruch
It was an ordinary dreary day that started out with the usual routine: getting ready for work on a cloudy Saturday. I received a call, enroute to the office, that my shift had to be cancelled. The minimal explanation that was offered (my partner had called out sick) was insufficient to my satisfaction. No details were provided as to the specific illness and its start nor its duration- all of which helped to feed into my skepticism as to whether the individual was actually ill. No matter how I persuaded, evet to volunteer my services, they insisted they had no use for me that day, and dejectedly, there was nothing more that I could do but turn around and go home. Reluctantly, I changed course, did a u-turn and headed in the direction of home.
As I was driving home, on that overcast cold winter morning, I noticed the old, run down church next to the cemetery that I pass every day on the way to work. That small, scenic, picturesque cobblestone church, with its pointed steeple topped by a simple white cross, and the small cemetery, by its side- a garden of decaying and cracked grey stones, intertwined with weeds and vines- stood in stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings of main street. The old church seemed as if it were plucked out of a previous long gone era and dropped right into the midst of old, run down, 21st century down town architecture. The only thing that separated the church from the nearby liquor stores, Chinese take-out, diners, convenience stores and used car lots, was an antique, four foot, black iron spiked fence that encircled the church and the graveyard. I always slowed down to look at cemeteries. No matter how many times I drove by this old church, it never failed to intrigue me, and as my usual custom, that morning was no exception so I slowed down.
This time I saw some activity going on- reminiscent of a small carnival or flea market, perhaps. My curiosity got the better of me and I actually stopped and pulled into the empty parking lot next to the church to take a better look at what was going on. Perhaps I can find some good books, I thought to myself. I was always interested in books, in particular, I enjoyed literature classics and old textbooks- which were usually plentiful at garage sales and flea markets. I saw people hoisting cumbersome, heavy, oblong boxes through the narrow doorway of the church. I wondered what was in those curious looking boxes and my greed for some books drew me closer. Slowly, I opened my car door, slid out of the driver’s seat, and shut the door behind me.
As I stood outside my car, I could see there was actually a small line of people waiting to enter the church through its narrow doors. There were perhaps two or three to an oblong box. Perhaps this was a church fundraiser, and these strange folk were setting up early for a flea market. I always thought that the vendors at flea markets were weird and uncouth individuals considering the eclectic assortment of used junk they would frequently try to pawn off. For what other opinion could I form of someone who would try and sell half used containers of deodorant, along side unopened McDonald’s happy meal toys, leather belts and old VHS tapes. Either their motives were unethical, or they truly were deluded into believing that there was value in their junk. In most cases the trash would be a more appropriate place to unload their overpriced junk. Perhaps these vendors had come with the high hopes of unloading their garages and attics in an attempt to raise money for some sort of noble endeavor or humanitarian cause. Not everyone had boxes, nevertheless, some were trudging through the narrow doorway with what appeared to be long narrow laundry bags or sleeping bags filled with something- perhaps clothing. Others had hoisted large overflowing dusty cardboard boxes of various goods and trinkets. It was like a gypsy caravan. Finally I made my way to the front door of the church. With all the activity, no one noticed my presence, thankfully I could observe in peace and anonymity.
It was if my eyes were deceiving me, I saw something which made me question as if this were real or that perhaps it was a dream! The oblong boxes were coffins, and the coffins were open. The coffins were not the traditional coffins that you see in a modern funeral service- those would have been too heavy to lift with two people anyway. These “coffins”- for I could not find a better expression to describe these ghastly containers- were constructed of relatively light weight materials: wood, tin and cardboard. They looked like oversized shoe boxes without lids. These makeshift coffins were easily be carried by two pall bearers, with one at either end. The overstuffed sleeping bags and laundry bags were actually the dead, encased in blankets and grungy bedding- some of which were in various stages of decay! Some of the elderly, grey haired woman, perhaps because they lacked the vigor and strength of their youth, simply dragged their bodies into the church. I was repulsed yet drawn at the same time. I stood transfixed in the doorway, unable to move- unable to enter the church threshold, yet unable to leave. I felt compelled to stay yet overcome with a sickly fear that I felt growing inside of being so close to the dead.
Inside the small one-roomed church was a bustle of activity. The surreal atmosphere was a cross between the somber dark gloominess of a funeral home with the fast paced zeal of a flea market and I am sure that there were a small number of health code as well as fire code violations to boot. At least there was one consolation- they weren’t serving any food- that would be too gross. There were guests of all ages crammed into the room- like a typical crowd at a flea market or carnival, I suppose. Along the walls and corners, the vendors were setting up their creepy wares. Specifically, the containers holding the corpses were being propped upright, leaning against the wall for support in strategic locations within the empty church. Apparently all the pews and chairs had been removed from the interior to accommodate this event and the crowds it would draw in. A few plastic fold-up tables were set up- filled with various old books, jewelry, photographs and other trinkets, near each of the displayed propped up bodies. Apparently, the items were set up and displayed with their respective owners that had owned them in life. I wondered if this made the items more valuable. In one corner, I looked with revulsion and shock as I saw two elderly women, casually applying blush and lipstick to the cheeks and lips of a deceased woman propped upright in a wooden box against the wall. Apparently they were cosmetizing the corpse.
Strangely I recognized some people in the crowd from years ago, yet did not acknowledge their presence. Nor did anyone acknowledge mine. They were complete strangers, yet familiar at the same time. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but this room was filled with many faces that were vaguely familiar from my past. Though decades had passed since I had last seen them, miraculously they had not aged whatsoever- still retaining their youth.
But then a strange blind, old man from across the crowded room caught my eye. He seemed familiar yet I did not know who he was. His eyes, appeared to be sealed shut as if the wrinkled, deflated eye lids, were devoid of the usual round orbs. He did not open his eyes, yet he seemed to be able to navigate around the room with ease- and with no need of a walking stick. He knew I was there staring at him from across the room and he casually walked closer. Once we exchanged greeting formalities, he gestured for me to come closer, and I was strangely compelled to obey. As if he were reading my mind he stood directly in front of me positioned his face only inches from my own and I stared straight into his eyes, literally. I could see an opening- as narrow as the width of a thin sheet of paper, between his eyelids. I looked directly into the void as if peering through a keyhole, and saw an unexplainable site. It was as if I had a panoramic 360 degree view inside his skull. I saw what seemed to be an empty expanse of vast darkness. Above, near the top I saw a set of eyes and below I saw a set of two eyes. Four fully formed orbs- fully functioning eyeballs, concealed and recessed deep within the darkness of skull, concealed from view. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. There were two normal eyes on top and two beneath- round white orbs, albeit a bit bloodshot, blue in color with black pupils- normal and functioning in every way, providing the man with perfect 20/20 vision. This was how he could see- so even though he appeared to be blind, he concealed an ingenious method of vision. He turned to the side and I saw above his ear, a gaping hole. The edges had been stitched long ago, and reflected many years of healing and scar tissue. There was no redness and no blood present whatsoever. There was no bandaging applied to cover the wound either- it was just there out in the open. Yet within the two inch ragged hole, the emptiness within his skull was entirely visible. Essentially his head, or to be more accurate, its - head and face was simply an outer shell, and there were none of the usual organs visible within. Medically, the man’s condition was incompatible with life, and in I fact did not know how he was alive.
The next thing I remember is a stern, small voice coming in through the doorway, “Mommy I need my clothes for school!”, called Rose as she swung open the door and stood at the foot of the bed. I woke up instantly.
As I was driving home, on that overcast cold winter morning, I noticed the old, run down church next to the cemetery that I pass every day on the way to work. That small, scenic, picturesque cobblestone church, with its pointed steeple topped by a simple white cross, and the small cemetery, by its side- a garden of decaying and cracked grey stones, intertwined with weeds and vines- stood in stark contrast to the rest of the surroundings of main street. The old church seemed as if it were plucked out of a previous long gone era and dropped right into the midst of old, run down, 21st century down town architecture. The only thing that separated the church from the nearby liquor stores, Chinese take-out, diners, convenience stores and used car lots, was an antique, four foot, black iron spiked fence that encircled the church and the graveyard. I always slowed down to look at cemeteries. No matter how many times I drove by this old church, it never failed to intrigue me, and as my usual custom, that morning was no exception so I slowed down.
This time I saw some activity going on- reminiscent of a small carnival or flea market, perhaps. My curiosity got the better of me and I actually stopped and pulled into the empty parking lot next to the church to take a better look at what was going on. Perhaps I can find some good books, I thought to myself. I was always interested in books, in particular, I enjoyed literature classics and old textbooks- which were usually plentiful at garage sales and flea markets. I saw people hoisting cumbersome, heavy, oblong boxes through the narrow doorway of the church. I wondered what was in those curious looking boxes and my greed for some books drew me closer. Slowly, I opened my car door, slid out of the driver’s seat, and shut the door behind me.
As I stood outside my car, I could see there was actually a small line of people waiting to enter the church through its narrow doors. There were perhaps two or three to an oblong box. Perhaps this was a church fundraiser, and these strange folk were setting up early for a flea market. I always thought that the vendors at flea markets were weird and uncouth individuals considering the eclectic assortment of used junk they would frequently try to pawn off. For what other opinion could I form of someone who would try and sell half used containers of deodorant, along side unopened McDonald’s happy meal toys, leather belts and old VHS tapes. Either their motives were unethical, or they truly were deluded into believing that there was value in their junk. In most cases the trash would be a more appropriate place to unload their overpriced junk. Perhaps these vendors had come with the high hopes of unloading their garages and attics in an attempt to raise money for some sort of noble endeavor or humanitarian cause. Not everyone had boxes, nevertheless, some were trudging through the narrow doorway with what appeared to be long narrow laundry bags or sleeping bags filled with something- perhaps clothing. Others had hoisted large overflowing dusty cardboard boxes of various goods and trinkets. It was like a gypsy caravan. Finally I made my way to the front door of the church. With all the activity, no one noticed my presence, thankfully I could observe in peace and anonymity.
It was if my eyes were deceiving me, I saw something which made me question as if this were real or that perhaps it was a dream! The oblong boxes were coffins, and the coffins were open. The coffins were not the traditional coffins that you see in a modern funeral service- those would have been too heavy to lift with two people anyway. These “coffins”- for I could not find a better expression to describe these ghastly containers- were constructed of relatively light weight materials: wood, tin and cardboard. They looked like oversized shoe boxes without lids. These makeshift coffins were easily be carried by two pall bearers, with one at either end. The overstuffed sleeping bags and laundry bags were actually the dead, encased in blankets and grungy bedding- some of which were in various stages of decay! Some of the elderly, grey haired woman, perhaps because they lacked the vigor and strength of their youth, simply dragged their bodies into the church. I was repulsed yet drawn at the same time. I stood transfixed in the doorway, unable to move- unable to enter the church threshold, yet unable to leave. I felt compelled to stay yet overcome with a sickly fear that I felt growing inside of being so close to the dead.
Inside the small one-roomed church was a bustle of activity. The surreal atmosphere was a cross between the somber dark gloominess of a funeral home with the fast paced zeal of a flea market and I am sure that there were a small number of health code as well as fire code violations to boot. At least there was one consolation- they weren’t serving any food- that would be too gross. There were guests of all ages crammed into the room- like a typical crowd at a flea market or carnival, I suppose. Along the walls and corners, the vendors were setting up their creepy wares. Specifically, the containers holding the corpses were being propped upright, leaning against the wall for support in strategic locations within the empty church. Apparently all the pews and chairs had been removed from the interior to accommodate this event and the crowds it would draw in. A few plastic fold-up tables were set up- filled with various old books, jewelry, photographs and other trinkets, near each of the displayed propped up bodies. Apparently, the items were set up and displayed with their respective owners that had owned them in life. I wondered if this made the items more valuable. In one corner, I looked with revulsion and shock as I saw two elderly women, casually applying blush and lipstick to the cheeks and lips of a deceased woman propped upright in a wooden box against the wall. Apparently they were cosmetizing the corpse.
Strangely I recognized some people in the crowd from years ago, yet did not acknowledge their presence. Nor did anyone acknowledge mine. They were complete strangers, yet familiar at the same time. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but this room was filled with many faces that were vaguely familiar from my past. Though decades had passed since I had last seen them, miraculously they had not aged whatsoever- still retaining their youth.
But then a strange blind, old man from across the crowded room caught my eye. He seemed familiar yet I did not know who he was. His eyes, appeared to be sealed shut as if the wrinkled, deflated eye lids, were devoid of the usual round orbs. He did not open his eyes, yet he seemed to be able to navigate around the room with ease- and with no need of a walking stick. He knew I was there staring at him from across the room and he casually walked closer. Once we exchanged greeting formalities, he gestured for me to come closer, and I was strangely compelled to obey. As if he were reading my mind he stood directly in front of me positioned his face only inches from my own and I stared straight into his eyes, literally. I could see an opening- as narrow as the width of a thin sheet of paper, between his eyelids. I looked directly into the void as if peering through a keyhole, and saw an unexplainable site. It was as if I had a panoramic 360 degree view inside his skull. I saw what seemed to be an empty expanse of vast darkness. Above, near the top I saw a set of eyes and below I saw a set of two eyes. Four fully formed orbs- fully functioning eyeballs, concealed and recessed deep within the darkness of skull, concealed from view. I could not comprehend what I was seeing. There were two normal eyes on top and two beneath- round white orbs, albeit a bit bloodshot, blue in color with black pupils- normal and functioning in every way, providing the man with perfect 20/20 vision. This was how he could see- so even though he appeared to be blind, he concealed an ingenious method of vision. He turned to the side and I saw above his ear, a gaping hole. The edges had been stitched long ago, and reflected many years of healing and scar tissue. There was no redness and no blood present whatsoever. There was no bandaging applied to cover the wound either- it was just there out in the open. Yet within the two inch ragged hole, the emptiness within his skull was entirely visible. Essentially his head, or to be more accurate, its - head and face was simply an outer shell, and there were none of the usual organs visible within. Medically, the man’s condition was incompatible with life, and in I fact did not know how he was alive.
The next thing I remember is a stern, small voice coming in through the doorway, “Mommy I need my clothes for school!”, called Rose as she swung open the door and stood at the foot of the bed. I woke up instantly.
The Secret.......... Under the Bed
The following is based on a dream I once had......... Any resemblence to reality is a coincidence, as this is simply a story based on fictitious events.
I kept a secret under my bed. It was a burden so great, yet a responsibility that I could not escape. Oh how I wished it would be discovered and lifted from me. I wished an intruder would ransack my bedroom or that some prying inquisitive eyes would call the authorities with a search warrant. I could barely keep from revealing the secret. Yet, at the same time, my lips remained sealed and I did my best to conceal my dark secret. I played in my mind in-depth scenarios of subtle ways that I could reveal the secret or to facilitate its discovery.
My days and nights were filled with anxiety. How I wished there was someone, anyone to confide in. But, I felt isolated and alone. While I was away at school or work, was the only time I felt a degree of freedom and peace. Though exhausted, I’d hastily jump out of bed, quickly going through the minimal formalities associated with proper hygiene and rush off to work and school. As the end of the day approached, a feeling of sick dread and anxiety grew. As I watched the clock tick, my skin would become moist and clammy in anticipation of what awaited me at home. Nervously, I’d glance at my watch; my throat tightened and my stomach felt as though it contained a lump of heavy lead. As I walked to my car, the keys would rattle and jingle in my shaking hand. My legs felt weak, as though they would buckle underneath my weight. I’d slip into my car, and with my heart quickly pounding, I’d make my way home. Unable to concentrate on the road, I’d somehow, find myself safely home, not even remembering the trip as if driven by auto-pilot.
During the daytime I was usually withdrawn and anxious. I did not watch tv. I did not listen to music. I engaged in solitary activities: reading, writing, drawing and playing with dolls. I would clean and organize my room and my books and my dolls and my various collections. I had many collections: rocks, stickers, stamps, petrified/ shellacked hermit crabs….. All these things were my expressive outlet- especially writing. I could spend hours, and even an entire night simply writing- filling entire notebooks within a few short hours! This was the age before computers- so I would write and write and write until my fingers were red and callused and sore. I had to finish, I could not leave a piece of work unfinished! Oh, how I lived my life in my room. I lived out my dreams- reenacting a perfect world, and fulfilling my wishes for revenge and my dreams. I created a miniature replica of a town, filled with homes and schools, stores and people. All those little tiny people represented real people. After school from the time I was eight throughout high school, I lived out my life of normalcy and dreams through the fictitious town I created as well as its inhabitants. I found peace by playing within that town. Anything that happened in real life, I would reenact in my small miniature town. No detail was too insignificant to include in my little town replica. In fact, it had its own transportation system, school system, a library and even a newspaper! The newspaper was available both in miniature format as well as larger traditional format- to this day I still have some copies. I enjoyed books and lived my life’s adventures from reading literature and novels. I also enjoyed philosophy, psychology and science as well. Much of my knowledge and experience came from books. I lived life experiences through reading, and made them come to life through my writings, my fantasies and the re-enactment through my dolls. To me this was life!
I looked in the mirror, and could not reconcile the image of the middle aged face staring back at me. Why did I appear so old? It couldn’t be me that I was staring out at, perhaps from lack of sleep my eyes were deceiving me. I was in a constant state of exhaustion. I read books to pass the lonely anxious hours away. I drank coffee and soda all day long to stay awake. I lived a life of quiet solitude, I was always a bit antisocial and distant- mostly keeping to myself. I did not have too many friends, and rarely entertained guests. I was mostly alone with my thoughts, except when I could escape through reading.
I especially dreaded the nighttime when it was time to retire, and loathed the mere site of my bedroom. I would stay up half the night awaiting the early hours of the morning when I was assured that everyone was asleep. At that time I would quickly sneak down the staircase, with my pillow tightly clenched in my right hand, and my blanket, clenched in the other, down to the sofa. Just before daybreak, before anyone would awake, after an hour or two of a pitiful, restless sleep, I would sneak quietly back up the stairs, back into the dreaded bedroom, and slip under the covers of my death tainted bed. I kept an ominous oppressive secret that I could neither share nor reveal, no matter how I prayed that it would be exposed or discovered. Under my bed, beneath the rusted, creaky, metal bed frame of my bed, I kept my grand-father, encased in an oversized shoebox of a coffin. Nestled safely from prying eyes I kept the secret burden of the decaying body of my grand- father. The putrefying stained carpet beneath the weakened, wet corrugated oblong box was safely concealed by the dingy, dusty ruffled bed skirt. The oppressive odor of decay was masked by a mixture of moth balls, bath salts and fresh potpourri. Don’t ask me the details or reasons, of how this came to be, because I don’t know how I came to be in possession of my grandpa. All I know was that I somehow bore the grave responsibility of keeping his remains. Why he was not buried in the consecrated ground of a cemetery, I do not know. My grandpa passed away unexpectedly when I was young, and as an adult, he was still with me. He was there under my bed after all these years. Not once did I look inside the container that encased his lifeless body – which after all these years was encased by layers and layers of sheets, bedding and towels- in an attempt to cover the stench and the fluids of decay. At one time having him with me brought me comfort and security, but now, I simply felt a strong sense of revulsion and an urge to break free and to simply get away- even if it meant running away. Oh how I had loved him in life, and deeply missed him. His unexpected death was as if it were a dream- it was unreal. I remember each and every minute detail of his last day as if it were yesterday. After his death, time seemed to have stopped. My mom as well as sisters, forever remained young as did I. I did not grieve and I did not mourn. I was strong and I simply moved on, barely acknowledging that anything had changed, pretending it didn’t happen yet knowing deep inside he was gone and I’d never see him again. His photos were hung on my wall. His button down dress shirts and his jacket still retained his comforting scent as I had remembered from my youth. His hat was collecting dust where it remained on the hook on the door, and his boots rested on the mat near the door just as they would have remained during his life. His wallet, his keychain, eyeglasses and pens and other personal effects- were safely contained in a small jewelry box on my dresser. I could not part with my grand father nor any of his things, yet at the same time, I felt a mixture of repulsion and trepidation.
I woke up one morning, it was a bright sunny day. I had no plans for the day. That same old tired reflection stared back at me as I half heartedly rubbed a dry toothbrush against my teeth. When I was finished, I let the toothbrush fall from my limp hand into the sink. In slow motion I picked the shirt and pants that had been carelessly dropped on the bathroom floor the previous evening and dressed myself. I was exhausted and did not care about anything. Yet suddenly without any warning or reason, I felt a determination that I had never felt before. As if animated by an unknown force, I quickly went back into my bedroom, taking all of my grand father’s things from the bedroom and hastily piling them in an empty laundry basket. I had an idea that I would carefully package each of the items and mail them to my aunts and sisters or perhaps place them in the attic. Next, I was drawn to my bed, and before I could talk myself out of it, I instinctively reached underneath my bed, and with a firm grip, began tugging as the layers of soiled, stiff and crusted bedding, throwing them carelessly into a pile at the side of my bed. There seemed to be a never ending supply of dusty, worn sheets, blankets, comforters and linens. I bent down bringing my face eye level to the space underneath my bed, in eager dread of what I’d find. With the rough carpet fibers scratching my cheek and ear, giving myself a bad case of rub burn, reaching my outstretched arms, as far as I could reach, under the dusty cavern beneath my bed, I found the remaining cocoon of bedding which I tugged out from underneath with the tips of my fingers. There was no stench of decay, and no stains of body fluids to be found, only years worth of dust that had settled underneath the bed. I sneezed as a puff of grey dust filled the air - as I stared at the dusty linen cocoon that I had unearthed from under my bed frame. I watched the dust particles dance in the sunbeams of light which shone through my bedroom window. With shaking hands, my anxiety mounted as I unraveled the layers of dusty, yellowed sheets, one layer at a time. Finally I reached the last layer of bedding, and after having unrolled it there was nothing at all contained within the bedding. I was puzzled as I confronted the fact that there was nothing at all inside the sheets and no indication that anything, other than just plain sheets had been under my bed after all these years. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The nightmare as far as I was concerned was over, there was nothing there and I was satisfied to leave it at that. I had no desire to pursue the issue any further, nor to question what I had imagined had been there. I could finally move on in peace. The only thing remaining of my grand father were the happy and peaceful memories.
I kept a secret under my bed. It was a burden so great, yet a responsibility that I could not escape. Oh how I wished it would be discovered and lifted from me. I wished an intruder would ransack my bedroom or that some prying inquisitive eyes would call the authorities with a search warrant. I could barely keep from revealing the secret. Yet, at the same time, my lips remained sealed and I did my best to conceal my dark secret. I played in my mind in-depth scenarios of subtle ways that I could reveal the secret or to facilitate its discovery.
My days and nights were filled with anxiety. How I wished there was someone, anyone to confide in. But, I felt isolated and alone. While I was away at school or work, was the only time I felt a degree of freedom and peace. Though exhausted, I’d hastily jump out of bed, quickly going through the minimal formalities associated with proper hygiene and rush off to work and school. As the end of the day approached, a feeling of sick dread and anxiety grew. As I watched the clock tick, my skin would become moist and clammy in anticipation of what awaited me at home. Nervously, I’d glance at my watch; my throat tightened and my stomach felt as though it contained a lump of heavy lead. As I walked to my car, the keys would rattle and jingle in my shaking hand. My legs felt weak, as though they would buckle underneath my weight. I’d slip into my car, and with my heart quickly pounding, I’d make my way home. Unable to concentrate on the road, I’d somehow, find myself safely home, not even remembering the trip as if driven by auto-pilot.
During the daytime I was usually withdrawn and anxious. I did not watch tv. I did not listen to music. I engaged in solitary activities: reading, writing, drawing and playing with dolls. I would clean and organize my room and my books and my dolls and my various collections. I had many collections: rocks, stickers, stamps, petrified/ shellacked hermit crabs….. All these things were my expressive outlet- especially writing. I could spend hours, and even an entire night simply writing- filling entire notebooks within a few short hours! This was the age before computers- so I would write and write and write until my fingers were red and callused and sore. I had to finish, I could not leave a piece of work unfinished! Oh, how I lived my life in my room. I lived out my dreams- reenacting a perfect world, and fulfilling my wishes for revenge and my dreams. I created a miniature replica of a town, filled with homes and schools, stores and people. All those little tiny people represented real people. After school from the time I was eight throughout high school, I lived out my life of normalcy and dreams through the fictitious town I created as well as its inhabitants. I found peace by playing within that town. Anything that happened in real life, I would reenact in my small miniature town. No detail was too insignificant to include in my little town replica. In fact, it had its own transportation system, school system, a library and even a newspaper! The newspaper was available both in miniature format as well as larger traditional format- to this day I still have some copies. I enjoyed books and lived my life’s adventures from reading literature and novels. I also enjoyed philosophy, psychology and science as well. Much of my knowledge and experience came from books. I lived life experiences through reading, and made them come to life through my writings, my fantasies and the re-enactment through my dolls. To me this was life!
I looked in the mirror, and could not reconcile the image of the middle aged face staring back at me. Why did I appear so old? It couldn’t be me that I was staring out at, perhaps from lack of sleep my eyes were deceiving me. I was in a constant state of exhaustion. I read books to pass the lonely anxious hours away. I drank coffee and soda all day long to stay awake. I lived a life of quiet solitude, I was always a bit antisocial and distant- mostly keeping to myself. I did not have too many friends, and rarely entertained guests. I was mostly alone with my thoughts, except when I could escape through reading.
I especially dreaded the nighttime when it was time to retire, and loathed the mere site of my bedroom. I would stay up half the night awaiting the early hours of the morning when I was assured that everyone was asleep. At that time I would quickly sneak down the staircase, with my pillow tightly clenched in my right hand, and my blanket, clenched in the other, down to the sofa. Just before daybreak, before anyone would awake, after an hour or two of a pitiful, restless sleep, I would sneak quietly back up the stairs, back into the dreaded bedroom, and slip under the covers of my death tainted bed. I kept an ominous oppressive secret that I could neither share nor reveal, no matter how I prayed that it would be exposed or discovered. Under my bed, beneath the rusted, creaky, metal bed frame of my bed, I kept my grand-father, encased in an oversized shoebox of a coffin. Nestled safely from prying eyes I kept the secret burden of the decaying body of my grand- father. The putrefying stained carpet beneath the weakened, wet corrugated oblong box was safely concealed by the dingy, dusty ruffled bed skirt. The oppressive odor of decay was masked by a mixture of moth balls, bath salts and fresh potpourri. Don’t ask me the details or reasons, of how this came to be, because I don’t know how I came to be in possession of my grandpa. All I know was that I somehow bore the grave responsibility of keeping his remains. Why he was not buried in the consecrated ground of a cemetery, I do not know. My grandpa passed away unexpectedly when I was young, and as an adult, he was still with me. He was there under my bed after all these years. Not once did I look inside the container that encased his lifeless body – which after all these years was encased by layers and layers of sheets, bedding and towels- in an attempt to cover the stench and the fluids of decay. At one time having him with me brought me comfort and security, but now, I simply felt a strong sense of revulsion and an urge to break free and to simply get away- even if it meant running away. Oh how I had loved him in life, and deeply missed him. His unexpected death was as if it were a dream- it was unreal. I remember each and every minute detail of his last day as if it were yesterday. After his death, time seemed to have stopped. My mom as well as sisters, forever remained young as did I. I did not grieve and I did not mourn. I was strong and I simply moved on, barely acknowledging that anything had changed, pretending it didn’t happen yet knowing deep inside he was gone and I’d never see him again. His photos were hung on my wall. His button down dress shirts and his jacket still retained his comforting scent as I had remembered from my youth. His hat was collecting dust where it remained on the hook on the door, and his boots rested on the mat near the door just as they would have remained during his life. His wallet, his keychain, eyeglasses and pens and other personal effects- were safely contained in a small jewelry box on my dresser. I could not part with my grand father nor any of his things, yet at the same time, I felt a mixture of repulsion and trepidation.
I woke up one morning, it was a bright sunny day. I had no plans for the day. That same old tired reflection stared back at me as I half heartedly rubbed a dry toothbrush against my teeth. When I was finished, I let the toothbrush fall from my limp hand into the sink. In slow motion I picked the shirt and pants that had been carelessly dropped on the bathroom floor the previous evening and dressed myself. I was exhausted and did not care about anything. Yet suddenly without any warning or reason, I felt a determination that I had never felt before. As if animated by an unknown force, I quickly went back into my bedroom, taking all of my grand father’s things from the bedroom and hastily piling them in an empty laundry basket. I had an idea that I would carefully package each of the items and mail them to my aunts and sisters or perhaps place them in the attic. Next, I was drawn to my bed, and before I could talk myself out of it, I instinctively reached underneath my bed, and with a firm grip, began tugging as the layers of soiled, stiff and crusted bedding, throwing them carelessly into a pile at the side of my bed. There seemed to be a never ending supply of dusty, worn sheets, blankets, comforters and linens. I bent down bringing my face eye level to the space underneath my bed, in eager dread of what I’d find. With the rough carpet fibers scratching my cheek and ear, giving myself a bad case of rub burn, reaching my outstretched arms, as far as I could reach, under the dusty cavern beneath my bed, I found the remaining cocoon of bedding which I tugged out from underneath with the tips of my fingers. There was no stench of decay, and no stains of body fluids to be found, only years worth of dust that had settled underneath the bed. I sneezed as a puff of grey dust filled the air - as I stared at the dusty linen cocoon that I had unearthed from under my bed frame. I watched the dust particles dance in the sunbeams of light which shone through my bedroom window. With shaking hands, my anxiety mounted as I unraveled the layers of dusty, yellowed sheets, one layer at a time. Finally I reached the last layer of bedding, and after having unrolled it there was nothing at all contained within the bedding. I was puzzled as I confronted the fact that there was nothing at all inside the sheets and no indication that anything, other than just plain sheets had been under my bed after all these years. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. The nightmare as far as I was concerned was over, there was nothing there and I was satisfied to leave it at that. I had no desire to pursue the issue any further, nor to question what I had imagined had been there. I could finally move on in peace. The only thing remaining of my grand father were the happy and peaceful memories.
The Power of the Holy Spirit
It helps when I direct my thoughts were drawn to Jesus - and that long, dark, lonely night he spent in the garden of Gethemsane. Jesus was God in the flesh, divine in spirit. Yet, at the same time Jesus was fully human- with a body subject to the same pains, discomforts and sensations as the rest of us. Though he was God, he was also a man. He was subject to human emotions: pain, grief, fear, thirst and forboding. With his divine nature, Jesus knew exactly what he was about to endure- a torturous death on the cross filled pain, suffering, humilation, shame. In fact the pain he was yet to experience in a few short hours was described in explicit detail by David in the Psalms and the prophet Isaiah! The torurous, sensations of drowning in one's own fluid filled lungs, in a prolonged death of asphyxiation, stretched out on the cross, was described by David. Isahiah and David fortold of the nakedness, shame, and humilation and abandonment that Jesus was yet to face at the cross. The sensations of thirst, pain, flesh stripped to shreds- to the bone, and even the shame- all fortold! Jesus was fully aware of what he would endure. Jesus was griefstricken, sickened, lonely, and axious. And who wouldn't be in the face of death on the cross? We complain and bellyache about much less! Jesus, in his despair and pain pleaded with God to take the cup of suffering away- three times! Jesus asked his apostles to have the strength to remain awake. But they could not remain awake. They simply did not have the strength. Blood stained sweat dripped from Jesus as he fervently prayed. (Whoever painted those santised, artistic renditions of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, depicting Jesus wearing a freshly pressed and laundered white robe, with a pensive yet peaceful look, in Italy in the 1400s, probably never read the actual biblical account. ) Yet, God gave Jesus- the supernatural strength he needed to persever, and Jesus responded "not My will but Your Will."
The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.
Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.
And then suddenly from no where I felt a bit of hope, and peace and thankfulness. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.
The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.
Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.
And then suddenly from no where I felt a bit of hope, and peace and thankfulness. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
discouraged
I find I am very discouraged and so narrowly focused on the negative. I must fight the constant temptation of self pity. Its a spiritual battle perhaps- a roller coaster of emotion that I must gather the strength to overcome. I know I should be thankful for having a job, but I do not feel that way right now. I have an unfulfilling, low paying data entry job that drains the life out of me as well as mounting medical bills from hospital visits and health issues. Everyday when I get home I find more medical bills and lab bills waiting for me- reminding me of the stillbirth and complications thereafter. I have had to forgo doctor apointments, medications and follow up lab tests and counseling because I cannot take off of work. Furthermore I don't have health benefits or holiday pay. Thankfully I was able to schedule a surgery last month on a non-work day. I am also thankful that the day I hemorrhaged a hefty volume of black, blood clots and nearly fainted- also happened on a non work day as well and that I didn't have to call out of work.
There are times I don't feel my low paying day job is worth all this, or that anything is- for that matter. Sometimes I work from sunrise to sunset and barely get to see my two kids who must stay in daycare all day. By the time I get home and make dinner there is barely any time for homework and baths. The reason people must work is to make money- I know. And I have to admit that although my pay is low, it still helps me to survive and without my pay I would possibly be homeless. It is true that my daycare expenses and car related expenses: gas and car repairs- take a large portion of my salary. I am thankful for the daycare, nevertheless and the fact that I do have a car. Last year in a time of need, the daycare continued to provide Samuel pre school- allowing him to finish the school year even though I was unable to pay.
I went to college to get my BS at Rutgers and then got my teaching certificate simply to work as a clerk in a small office doing mindless data entry. What a waste of time and money! I have to rely on the good will of my family and food stamps- both of which I am thankful for. Yet, I am humbled and ashamed. I cannot help but feel like a failure in the things that are important in this world for self sufficiency.
It is true that countless numbers have it worse. There are countless human lives that suffer day to day from sickness, poverty and death, that my small miseries aand complaints pale in comparison. I am disgusted with myself even for complaining about my minor issues when there are so many who suffer every single day with no relief in sight. People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition. I must fight against having a thankless and entitled attitude.
I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21
I must fight hard against the trend toward self pity and look to God's promises. My faith is feeling very low, especially at times. Yet I must keep in mind that God is there. I can reflect on Jesus - and that long, dark, lonely night he spent in the garden of Gethemsane. Jesus was God in the flesh, divine in spirit. Yet, at the same time Jesus was fully human- with a body subject to the same pains, discomforts and sensations as the rest of us. Though he was God, he was also a man. He was subject to human emotions: pain, grief, fear, thirst and forboding. With his divine nature, Jesus knew exactly what he was about to endure- a torturous death on the cross filled pain, suffering, humilation, shame. In fact the pain he was yet to experience in a few short hours was described in explicit detail by David in the Psalms and the prophet Isaiah! The torurous, sensations of drowning in one's own fluid filled lungs, in a prolonged death of asphyxiation, stretched out on the cross, was described by David. Isahiah and David fortold of the nakedness, shame, and humilation and abandonment that Jesus was yet to face at the cross. The sensations of thirst, pain, flesh stripped to shreds- to the bone, and even the shame- all fortold! Jesus was fully aware of what he would endure. Jesus was griefstricken, sickened, lonely, and axious. And who wouldn't be in the face of death on the cross? We complain and bellyache about much less! Jesus, in his despair and pain pleaded with God to take the cup of suffering away- three times! Jesus asked his apostles to have the strength to remain awake. But they could not remain awake. They simply did not have the strength. Blood stained sweat dripped from Jesus as he fervently prayed. (Whoever painted those santised, artistic renditions of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, depicting Jesus wearing a freshly pressed and laundered white robe, with a pensive yet peaceful look, in Italy in the 1400s, probably never read the actual biblical account. ) Yet, God gave Jesus- the supernatural strength he needed to persever, and Jesus responded "not My will but Your Will."
The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.
Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.
It is possible to have peace and thankfulness- even when life is not perfect. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.
There are times I don't feel my low paying day job is worth all this, or that anything is- for that matter. Sometimes I work from sunrise to sunset and barely get to see my two kids who must stay in daycare all day. By the time I get home and make dinner there is barely any time for homework and baths. The reason people must work is to make money- I know. And I have to admit that although my pay is low, it still helps me to survive and without my pay I would possibly be homeless. It is true that my daycare expenses and car related expenses: gas and car repairs- take a large portion of my salary. I am thankful for the daycare, nevertheless and the fact that I do have a car. Last year in a time of need, the daycare continued to provide Samuel pre school- allowing him to finish the school year even though I was unable to pay.
I went to college to get my BS at Rutgers and then got my teaching certificate simply to work as a clerk in a small office doing mindless data entry. What a waste of time and money! I have to rely on the good will of my family and food stamps- both of which I am thankful for. Yet, I am humbled and ashamed. I cannot help but feel like a failure in the things that are important in this world for self sufficiency.
It is true that countless numbers have it worse. There are countless human lives that suffer day to day from sickness, poverty and death, that my small miseries aand complaints pale in comparison. I am disgusted with myself even for complaining about my minor issues when there are so many who suffer every single day with no relief in sight. People endure a lot of pain in this world- death, grief, terminal illness, poverty and natural disaster. Yet, many people choose live in the safety of their own cacoon- their own little comfortable lives, their own family, friends and career, focusing on materialism, instant gratification and ambition. I must fight against having a thankless and entitled attitude.
I was once asked by a elderly patient that I was transporting to the hospital -if I had any children. I answered her, "yes". After further questioning I told her that I had a boy and a girl. And she responded..."ahhh.... a rich man's family". I thought about those words, and yes it is true. I am "rich" in all that really matters and is important. I may not be rich by society's standards- as in the fact that I don't have material wealth, a career, special talents, or a mansion, or fancy shoes or an expensive Coach bag. But I do have my faith, and a promise of eternal life- and my two children, and I have my freedom- to practice my beliefs without fear of torture, and I don't have a terminal illness or chronic pain. I also have a place to live, and food to eat and clothes. In reality what more is important? Matthew 6:19-21
I must fight hard against the trend toward self pity and look to God's promises. My faith is feeling very low, especially at times. Yet I must keep in mind that God is there. I can reflect on Jesus - and that long, dark, lonely night he spent in the garden of Gethemsane. Jesus was God in the flesh, divine in spirit. Yet, at the same time Jesus was fully human- with a body subject to the same pains, discomforts and sensations as the rest of us. Though he was God, he was also a man. He was subject to human emotions: pain, grief, fear, thirst and forboding. With his divine nature, Jesus knew exactly what he was about to endure- a torturous death on the cross filled pain, suffering, humilation, shame. In fact the pain he was yet to experience in a few short hours was described in explicit detail by David in the Psalms and the prophet Isaiah! The torurous, sensations of drowning in one's own fluid filled lungs, in a prolonged death of asphyxiation, stretched out on the cross, was described by David. Isahiah and David fortold of the nakedness, shame, and humilation and abandonment that Jesus was yet to face at the cross. The sensations of thirst, pain, flesh stripped to shreds- to the bone, and even the shame- all fortold! Jesus was fully aware of what he would endure. Jesus was griefstricken, sickened, lonely, and axious. And who wouldn't be in the face of death on the cross? We complain and bellyache about much less! Jesus, in his despair and pain pleaded with God to take the cup of suffering away- three times! Jesus asked his apostles to have the strength to remain awake. But they could not remain awake. They simply did not have the strength. Blood stained sweat dripped from Jesus as he fervently prayed. (Whoever painted those santised, artistic renditions of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, depicting Jesus wearing a freshly pressed and laundered white robe, with a pensive yet peaceful look, in Italy in the 1400s, probably never read the actual biblical account. ) Yet, God gave Jesus- the supernatural strength he needed to persever, and Jesus responded "not My will but Your Will."
The power of the Holy Spirit is very real. The Holy Spirit is here and alive and ready for us. Not many people meditate on the significance of the Holy Spirit. Yes it is true, the Holy Spirit is the third person of the trinity. Intellectually many people are aware of the fact. Every Sunday morning, we are reminded. Yet the significance is enormous! When you consider the Holy Spirit- which is in fact God (just as Jesus is God and the Father is God), then the true meaning and significance become more apparent. It is nothing short of miraculous! God is with us through the Holy Spirit. The presence of the Holy Spirit of God is no less real than the presense of Jesus Christ in ancient Palestine, or the presence of God, the Father in his throne in heaven. All three are God, and the Holy Spirit is essentialy God with us- here right now. It is the Holy Spirit that gave Jesus the strength to endure his fate on the cross. It is the Holy Spirit that helped Jesus survive 40 torturous and lonely days & nights in a dry desolate dessert, parched and hungry in the face of the devil's temptations. It is the Holy Spirit that gave a band of unlearned men. the apostles, the strength and wisdom to persevere and spread the good news of the gospel message. This same Holy Spirit strengthened the early believers to face a painful death, being torn to shreds by wild animals, as the were marytered for entertainment at the hands of the ancient Roman government. That same very Holy Spirit can help each and every one of us, infusing us with supernatural, spiritual strength to persevere, even when our minds and our bodies fail us. This is not about our own will power. It isn't about keeping a new years resolution or being tough and independant. This is not simply another self help type of advise that is contained in countless dieting, and relationship and other self helpbooks. This isn't like having a voice in one's head telling us what to do or what not to do. This is about the power of the Holy Spirit that helps us, when we are at our weakest. We don't muster this strength on our own merits, but rather by placing our faith in God.
Jesus explained that we must not live by bread and food alone but by the word of God. The word of God is more important than the food and water we need for our daily sustainance! Certainly food and water keep our physical bodies alive and functioning, but there is something much more important than the physical body- and that is the spirit. Our spiritual health is more important to true life than merely our physical state. And, even when our bodies betray us, when our physical bodies fail us and shame us, we can find renewing and refreshing strength that we need from the power of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit has the miraculous life chaging power to renew each and every one of us spiritually. Replace the expression or term "Holy Spirit" with "God" and it will become clear that God himslef has the power to renew and restore our spirit in order to give us the strength we need to endure and persevere. With God at your side, who needs a counselor or physchologist? Pills, doctors, drugs and medications pale in comparison to the power of God himself through the Holy Spirit! Everything is second place- money, prosperity, career, selfish ambition- its all a counterfit when it comes to the power for peace and strength. You can spend hours in psychotheraphy, you may spend lots of money shopping, or to go on drinking binges, or mind- numbing outings at bars, parties, clubs, sports and other entertainment- all these things may numb the pain or provide diversion- but none of these things can heal. Only God can heal. The power of the Holy Spirit can heal the sick and weak spirit. The power of the holy Spirit can changes lives- no matter how many days you have remaining before you- whether its one day or 70 years. We don't need to be vampires to live for ever, nor do we need superheros like Superman or Spiderman to save us.
It is possible to have peace and thankfulness- even when life is not perfect. God did not take away my problems-they are still there. But, sometimes God's answer to our requests and problems is simply "no", yet I was offered spiritual strength and peace. It is through trials and storms we gain spiritual strength and the ability to persevere. I've been shortsited- overcome in my own personal grief and anxiety. Paul had the thorn in his side, that God chose not to take away and in his weakness he found strength. When Jesus pleaded with God in Gethemane to take away his cup of suffering he was given strength and peace to proclaim, "not my will, but yours." I have the spiritual strength to go on another day, and the peace to lay aside my worry and anxiety. God has the power to grant hope and change lives- God has been there for me in the past to pull me through and will do so now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)