John 14:2 In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3 [...]]]> Sometimes I want to smack myself because of my inability to understand scriptures. All my life I have seen the following passage as referring to heaven.

John 14:2 In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. 3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. 4 And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.

I guess I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. After all, Jesus did leave earth and go up into heaven to the Father. But in what way did he prepare a place for us? Yes, he was a carpenter by trade, but we surely don’t think he went up into the sky to literally construct mansions. He said his disciples knew the way. In another place we find:

John 14:6 Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.

I doubt any of us think that verse is saying we can go to God only by being physically carried by Jesus. We understand that Jesus means we must come through him by our faith and trust and obedience to his will. In the same way, he was telling his disciples how to be in a relationship with God–how to dwell with him in peace and security. He was going to the Father and we also can be with the Father in his house–through Jesus.

What did Jesus mean when he spoke of his Father’s house? We should allow the scriptures to explain that expression.

Ephesians 2:19 Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God;
20 And are built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone;
21 In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord:
22 In whom ye also are builded together for an habitation of God through the Spirit.

1 Timothy 3:15 But if I tarry long, that thou mayest know how thou oughtest to behave thyself in the house of God, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth.

1 Peter 4:17 For the time is come that judgment must begin at the house of God: and if it first begin at us, what shall the end be of them that obey not the gospel of God?

What is this house of God that Jesus went to prepare (build)?

Matthew 16:18 And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

By going to the Father, Jesus offered himself as the sacrifice for our sins. God accepted that sacrifice and so we are no longer separated from God but are allowed to be called sons of God because we have been brought into a relationship with God.

John 1:12 But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:

Romans 8:14 For as many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God.

Romans 8:19 For the earnest expectation of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God.

Philippians 2:15 That ye may be blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke, in the midst of a crooked and perverse nation, among whom ye shine as lights in the world;

1 John 3:1 Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not.

1 John 3:2 Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.

We are God’s children and he dwells in us. We are his temple–his house. God no longer dwells in a temple made with hands. He dwells in us.

Ezekiel 37: 27 My tabernacle also shall be with them: yea, I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 28 And the heathen shall know that I the LORD do sanctify Israel, when my sanctuary shall be in the midst of them for evermore.

2 Corinthians 6:16 . . . for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.

Revelation 21:3 And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

Yes, this is in Revelation 21–all the way at the end of the book. But that does not mean that this has not happened. We see in Ephesians 2:19-22, above, and also in 2 Corinthians 6:16 that it is already happening. And we have:

1 Corinthians 3:16 Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?

I now understand that when Jesus said he was going to prepare a place for his disciples so we could all be where he is, he meant that he was going to offer the sacrifice of his blood before God so we could be reconciled to God and God could dwell with us and we could be his sons—now, here, on this earth. Christ is a “son over his own house; whose house we are” (Hebrews 3:6). He prepared/built a glorious house for us. We don’t have to wait to be in the house of God. We don’t have to sing about a “mansion just over the hilltop.” We are sons of God, a part of his household, today!

Tina Rae Collins
6/30/10

to the same destination in this life.

We end up

on the mortician’s table,

bloody and bruised,

old and twisted,

We’re all heading

to the same destination in this life.

We end up

on the mortician’s table,

bloody and bruised,

old and twisted,

pale, toothless and thin.

Some of us racing

to get there while others

just mosey along

admiring the scenery

and waiting their turn.

What’s on the other side?

Billy Graham’s heaven”?

Billy Sunday’s hell?

Nothingness?

Another shot at life?

There is great debate about this.

In the end

we mete out our own justice.

Our suffering,

at least in this life,

is directly proportional

to the pain we have caused.

Purgatory is the discovery

on the other side

of what damage we have done

and the disappointment

hidden from our hearts

now exposed.

It is seeing the full weight of our sins

Brought to bear on this world

And the sins of those you loved

revealed.

And it is more terrible

than we can imagine.

Copyright 2010 Jose Antonio Ponce

Everything in nature is interconnected, including humans. We are a part of nature, not separate from it, set apart from and above it to do with it what we will. Like every other species, we are deeply embedded in nature and dependent on it [...]]]> To paraphrase something Thich Nhat Hanh once said, “Everything inter-is.”

Everything in nature is interconnected, including humans. We are a part of nature, not separate from it, set apart from and above it to do with it what we will. Like every other species, we are deeply embedded in nature and dependent on it for our sustenance and our future. Compared with the prevailing Christian religious, political and economic traditions, this is a radical shift. It is also a tremendously important one.

For the past three decades there has been a growing, world wide “green” movement to counter this process by reconnecting with the planet and with each other. GreenSpirit, a movement begun in the UK, is one such movement. As its editor Marian Van Eyk McCain says in the Introduction, “GreenSpirit brings together the rigor of science, the creativity of artistic expression, the passion of social action and the core wisdom that exists within the spiritual traditions of all ages.”

This book is a treasure trove of resources for anyone with an interest in creating a more joyous and sustainable future and a deeper understanding of spirituality. I highly recommend it.

George Polley, author “Being Here”, “The Old Man and the Monkey” and “Grandfather and the Raven”.

So what does one say about an iconic woman such as Ms. Horne? We [...]]]> I woke this morning, like we all did, to the news of the death of Lena Horne. While my heart now grieves at her passing I am comforted in knowing that Lean Hone lived a long, productive and successful life.

So what does one say about an iconic woman such as Ms. Horne? We can praise her talent, her tenacity, her strength and we can declare her beauty and her grace. Almost everyone recalls her rendition of Stormy Weather and proclaims it their favorite. I recall her renditions of Believe In Yourself, As I Believe In You and The Lady is A Trap. I proclaim them my favorites, these songs are my anthems.

If you believe
Within your heart you’ll know
That no one can change
The path that you must go

Believe what you feel
And know you’re right, because
The time will come around
When you say it’s yours

Believe there’s a reason to be
Believe you can make time stand still
You know from the moment you try
If you believe
I know you will

Believe in yourself, right from the start
You’ll have brains
You’ll have a heart
You’ll have courage
To last your whole life through

If you believe in yourself
If you believe in yourself
If you believe in yourself
As I believe in you

That is how Ms. Lena lived. She believed in herself. She wouldn’t allow anyone to redefine her. She wouldn’t allow anyone to deny her and she wouldn’t allow anyone to ignore her. She was a class act and that’s Why the Lady Was a Tramp.  Now before you get upset, understand the gist of the statement. Understand that people thought that she should deny who she was because of her beauty and the tone of her completion. Yes, she was a beautiful woman, even well into her 80’s but, as beautiful as she was her beauty wasn’t incomparable and Lena Horne knew that. Lena Horne knew she was blessed and she knew that she had to use her blessings for the good of her people, for the good of all people. White America had always had difficulty understanding that for every one talented or beautiful African American there are many more just as talented, just as beautiful and there are some who are even more talented and more stunning. I say that by no means, to diminish her. Lena Horne knew that God gave her a voice and she used that voice to expose the plight of her people. Lena Hone knew that God gave her the façade which enabled her voice to be heard so she used that façade to expose the plight of her people. At times she was misunderstood and ridiculed but she persevered. Yes, she may have retreated for a moment but when she came back, she came back even stronger and with even more tenacity and conviction.

I am sure that God brought her home Sunday morning saying “Well done my daughter, well done”

  Once upon a time there was a priest who had the best of intentions. While in the seminary, he devoted himself to God and practically memorized the Bible. He was going to transform the world into a model of Christianity, beginning with the parish he would one day [...]]]> Stephen Sangirardi   The Monster   Bard715@aol.com

  Once upon a time there was a priest who had the best of intentions. While in the seminary, he devoted himself to God and practically memorized the Bible. He was going to transform the world into a model of Christianity, beginning with the parish he would one day shepherd. No vow was too difficult for the young man to grapple, especially the vow of chastity and purity, and not a night passed when the young novitiate did not pray like a thousand saints rolled into one.

  The day of his graduation from the seminary came, and the priest was sent out into the world. His parish was a small community in upstate New York, where he would serve under the current pastor. It was understood that when the elder pastor died, the young priest would succeed him. For the first few years of his service, the young man of God zealously served his flock, energizing his sermons with a power that the congregation had never seen before. In addition to sermonizing, the priest counseled anyone who sought his advice and administered Holy Communion in the dead of winter, swirling snow and all, if an ailing person needed to receive the Eucharist at home. In this respect, the priest was like an old-fashioned doctor who made house calls. Word of the priest’s spirituality began to spread to other congregations, and in no time the priest had doubled the number of people who came weekly to his church. He had made proud the old pastor who once told a newspaper reporter that had he, an aging pastor, not chosen the celibate life, the young priest was the type of son he would have wished for.

  After a few years, however, the price of repression, of sexual sacrifice, had begun to take its toll on the priest. He prayed endlessly to ward off the temptations that began to attack him and he made certain that he never looked at any woman in his parish for too long or spent too much time with any female in the confessional or the sacristy. He practically took to whipping his flesh, as the Reverend Dimmesdale resorted to in The Scarlet Letter after the Rev. had fornicated and produced a child with Hester Prynne. Sure enough, the priest overcame every urge to make the beast with two backs with a woman.

  Sublimating this primal passion, the priest, no longer young, discovered something else about himself.

  Accompanying him at every Mass were acolytes or altar boys. People started to notice that the priest was spending an extraordinary amount of time chaperoning the boys around town and asking them to come to the church at night so that he could teach them elements of the Latin Mass. The aging pastor was troubled by this, but fought against his deeper instincts. He did not want to believe that such a paragon of priesthood would ever destroy his soul by doing unspeakable things. Still, the pastor became terrified when two of the altar boys ran away from home and absolutely refused to discuss the reason for their running away with parents, police, and therapists. The pastor could no longer deny what his intuition blared out to him.  

  One quiet Saturday afternoon, he secretly approached the priest’s confessional box in the back of the church and heard noises coming from inside. He prayed that what he was about to do was the right thing, and suddenly pulled aside the curtain from the old confessional. To his horror he saw the priest, this man who had launched his clerical career with sainthood written all over it, alone with one of the altar boys who was not older than ten. There was no sermonizing occurring in the sacred box, only an act that was as monstrous as it was criminal.

As authors who ghost write the [...]]]> Back in ancient Rome, the Emperor typically had one thought that troubled him more than any other – “Who guards you against your own guards?”, referring to the Imperial Praetorian guards, who either made you or croaked you, according to whim and political calculation (“Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?”).

As authors who ghost write the lives of fictional characters, and the occasional real one, the question that betimes intrigues and troubles us is a matching one: “Who ghost writes for the ghost writers?”

One answer, of course, might be your editor. Some editors have defined the very essence of their clients’ styles. I cannot remember whether it was Raymond Carver or Raymond Chandler whose characteristically terse delivery was largely attributable to the preferences of his editor. It is undeniable, but rarely confessed, that some editors end up rewriting their authors’ books.

My first influence was Lawrence Durrell. Although I wouldn’t claim that he is among my favourite authors, his ‘Alexandrine Quartet’ is right at the top of my favourite books. I could never copy the opulent, sensuous prose style he shared with John Fowles and Truman Capote, but I loved the way that he told the same story from three different angles and then developed it further in the fourth. There is nothing more fascinating than turning characters and storylines inside-out and upside-down in successive books.

A less likely influence was Ronnie Corbett, one half of the British comedy duo ‘The Two Ronnies’. Ronnie Corbett’s centrepiece in the show was to sit in a chair and ramble out an excruciating shaggy dog story with only the last sentence of his tale to redeem it. The suspense was killing, the narrative mastery breathless.

Perhaps an even better raconteur was Peter Ustinov, a better raconteur than he was a writer, and a very much better both than he was an actor. Let’s face it, the only benefit his acting gave the world was to warn the paying public off the film he was in. But, as a storyteller he was spellbinding, even before he opened his mouth.

My local Peter Ustinov was my father, about whom a friend once said “The funny thing about Charlie is that when he is standing up you can’t get him to say a word, and when he is sitting down you can’t get him to shut up”. There was nothing my father enjoyed more than to be surrounded by adoring women – and the odd spare prick of a man – spinning his yarns. What I learnt from him is what any political spin doctor will tell you: that when the exigency to tell the truth comes into conflict with the exigency to tell a coherent story, as it often does, the truth can go hang itself. My mum and I would sit there carping “That’s not true” or “I didn’t happen like that at all” and my father, who was a patient man, would smile sweetly while undoubtedly privately considering us complete  inter-relational basket cases.

In our later years, my father and I had many spats, ostensibly related to politics in general and the benign civilisation-bearing properties of the British Empire in particular – somewhat similar to the vituperative tussle I have here on SWI with John Rigo over his genocidal-Christ ethic – but as he lay dying he was remarkably encouraging of the story I was scribing at the time (which twenty years later became the first ‘his’ chapter of ‘The Blue Food Revolution’). You could always tell when my father was embarrassed. He rubbed his nose vigorously until we all expected it to shift to his forehead. Nothing of that sort happened as he read my tales. Perhaps my clunky prose made him hunger for the afterlife and he was quietly confident that he would get there faster than I would find a literary agent – the astute man.

However, since I started writing intensively in 2004, I have discovered that I have an entirely separate set of ghosts, and I haven’t a clue who they are.

Until then, I had given up caring whether there was a God or not, or even whether a metaphysical realm existed, but the process of writing makes it unmistakeably clear that there is definitely something out there feeding me my lines. I have written whole books without having a clue what was going on. I mostly sit down with a blank sheet of paper which would fill faster than I can type the words, or think the thoughts, if it could. I am constantly surprised to discover what I have written. And I am far from alone. Many an author tells me that they write virtually in a trance which fills them subconsciously and effortlessly with ideas and words.

If this is true, rather than simply an affectation, what is the purpose of all this?

That is another question I cannot answer, but if I were God (and thank God that I am not), I would inspire writers to explore the many and varied aspects of the universe and encourage readers to engage with them, just to pass the time of day and maybe to improve the world by a nanometre.

So there you have it, if you want to know what God truly thinks, read Dan Brown.

(Ronnie Corbett, eat your heart out).

            “This is Joe’s last chance Mr. Pahn-cee.” The counselor said, mispronouncing our last name as everyone had done our whole lives. I had been named after St. Joseph the Worker; patron saint [...]]]>              I sat next to my father in the counselor’s office at west mesa high school embarrassed and staring at my feet.

            “This is Joe’s last chance Mr. Pahn-cee.” The counselor said, mispronouncing our last name as everyone had done our whole lives. I had been named after St. Joseph the Worker; patron saint of laborers who’s feast day it was on May 1^st, the day I was born.,. When I got to the first grade, the nuns renamed me because we already had a Jose in class, Jose Hernandez. By virtue of the alphabet, I became Joe Ponce.

            “Your son has failed his second year of algebra and is lacking full credits in English and Science because of unexcused absences. At this rate, he will not graduate with his class.” he continued. I could feel my father looking at me. “We believe that he is a good candidate for a new non-traditional program recently started at APS. That’s what Mr. Nuzzo is here to talk to you about.”

            The counselor gestured toward the older man sitting in the corner of his traditionally spartan, traditionally institutional office. He looked a little like my father. Slightly graying hair combed back, black frame glasses and a simple collared shirt and slacks. A pen in his pocket, just like my dad.

            “My name is Don Nuzzo,” he said extending his hand “from Freedom High. I’d like to talk to you, but first I’d like to ask your son something. Why do you want to come to Freedom High?”

            “I’m not sure that I do.” I mumbled. My father made an angry noise.

            “Then why in the hell are you wasting my time?” he said calmly. With that, Mr. Nuzzo stood up, shook my father’s hand again and began to walk out of the office.

            “Wait,” my father said. He turned and gave me a threatening look. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

            I finished out my junior year at West Mesa and enrolled in Freedom High for my senior year. The school was located in the basement of an empty Baptist church on the corner of Fifth Street and Marble, downtown.  At first, it seemed all too easy. Everyone went by their first names, including the teachers. The whole place was laid back. There was no curriculum we could see. Each day seemed to be a series of unrelated lessons.

            But there were lessons learned. The first was responsibility. Roll was never taken and it was the student’s responsibility to show up. If you didn’t come to school, no one called your parents. If you didn’t come to school, you wouldn’t graduate.

            With such a low teacher to student ratio, teachers often taught more than one type of class. Chris (Chrissos) taught English and Social Studies. Bert (Norgorden) taught Music and Math. Don Nuzzo taught History and Art. Every adult in the school got involved in their student’s lives to the extent that we would let them in. Because they asked to be involved, we let them get involved.

            I found myself participating in my education more than ever before. I asked questions. I debated my point of view and was not just dismissed as a kid and I complained that the curriculum was not progressive enough. That’s when I got into trouble and trouble’s name was Lynn.

            I had seen her in the hallway (there was only one with classrooms on either side.) She was extremely fair skinned with plump little hips. She had a crooked front tooth that she teased constantly with her tongue. And dark auburn hair. She had this little pageboy cut that framed her face perfectly and made her seem innocent, almost harmless despite her overwhelming sexuality. I was smitten from the moment I saw her. I never had a chance.

            Lynn was mouthy. She challenged everything. Unlike me, who did it for show, she was genuinely subversive, never wanting to let the status quo remain so. Why were we studying this? Was something opinion or fact? Could anything really be absolute? It was this common interest in trying to be uncommon that first brought us together.

            Lynn asked why Freedom High didn’t have a school newspaper. I chimed in, not wanting to be left out of the rebellion and Chris made the formation and publication of the newspaper our project. He would give us no direction or instruction. We were to find stories, interview people, write the articles, compose, publish, print and distribute the paper in addition to our other schoolwork.

Lynn and I formed a partnership. I drove her to and from school. She let me sing songs for her. She flirted shamelessly with me, draping her arms around my neck, propping herself up against me as we worked together, holding my hand to cross the street.

I was lost. No girl had ever been so nice to me. I wanted to give her the world. We had frank discussions about love and sex and friendship. She made me answer questions that were uncomfortable for me. People made fun of me, shadowing this girl one-third my size. I wanted to be her boyfriend. Fat chance!

And then one day, it happened. She kissed me. Lynn cupped my chin lovingly in her hand, tilted my head toward hers and kissed me. I’ll never forget that as long as I live and I’ll compare it to every other kiss I’ll ever get.

When I fell in love the first time in eighth grade

and I started shaving the very next day.

Just walking her home made me light on my feet.

And I promised her things you just wouldn’t believe.

When I asked my dad why girls had that effect

He said, “Go ask your mom. I ain’t figured it yet.”

It’s magic and you don’t want to know

just how it’s done. It would ruin the show.

You’ve just got to believe ’cause believing is what makes it happen.

Oh, it’s nothing but magic.

My senior year is always hazy. All I remember is Lynn. She consumed every moment of my life. All I wanted in life was the next day because it meant I could spend it with her. As life should have become more serious for me, it became even more of a pipe dream. I was going to be famous and rich and happy with my girlfriend.

Lynn, however, became bored. I was nice and I had a job and some money, but maybe I was a little too responsible. When she told me she was pregnant, I was pretty happy and she was a little stunned at my reaction. The look in her eyes told me she felt trapped. It was clear she didn’t want to be stuck with this dependable but boring guy.

 Other guys came into the picture. Better looking, more exciting guys. She flirted with them the way she no longer flirted with me. People talked behind my back about her running around. I felt her slipping away from me. I became more and more obsessed with not losing her. I rented an apartment from one of my former teachers at Freedom High so that we could have our own place, but that scared her worse than anything and we broke up.

I went to the wedding ceremony in her parent’s house. She was very pregnant in a long, red flower print dress standing next to a leather jacketed Kurt Bradshaw. He was ragged looking with his scruffy beard and long blond ponytail. He didn’t have a job, but he did have a motorcycle. Still, her parents seemed somewhat relieved. At least he was white.

I tried to stay friends with Lynn. I talked to her as often as I could. I kept track of the pregnancy. I left the summer apartment when Bert came back from sabbatical and moved into a two-bedroom shack with Tim Robertson. He even went to the hospital with me when the baby was born. Kurt Jason Bradshaw. Not Nicholas David we had agreed on only months before.

Everybody sympathized with me and told me how they knew what was going on but didn’t want to be the first to tell me. I went to work with my brother. We formed a construction company that specialized in re-stucco and concrete work. I stopped playing my guitar because everything that came out of it sounded sad. All my dreams of running away to New York with Lynn and becoming the next Bob Dylan withered away.

Six months went by. I didn’t see Lynn at all. One afternoon I came home and she called. Kurt had slapped her. Could she come stay with me? With hope renewed, I went to pick her up at Kurt’s. I packed her few possessions (she was still wearing the same clothes she wore in high school) and the additional baggage of baby blankets, diaper bag, bottles and of course, the baby into my Camero and headed back to the apartment. It was just going to be for a few days, she assured me and she made it clear that she was still married.

I moved a small mattress into a corner of Tim’s room and turned my room over to her. I respected her privacy, too timid to even hold her. Days turned into weeks and into months. Tim hated her. She didn’t clean house, she didn’t have a job and worst of all, she wasn’t sleeping with either of us. As far as he was concerned, she contributed nothing to the household.

After a few months, it was clear that Lynn was willing to break her marriage vows with a few of my friends, and eventually, Tim. It was also clear that she knew better than to start up again with me.

The one bright spot was that I got to be with my son. Shortly after Lynn brought Jason into the house, I bought him a Cookie Monster birthday cake to celebrate his sixth month birthday. Toothless, all he was able to enjoy was the bright blue icing. Changing his diapers for the next 24 hours was comical as the bright blue icing worked its way through him.

After Lynn moved into Tim’s room, I had the chance to move back into my room and for some reason, Lynn left Jason there on a small mattress next to mine. For weeks after he learned to crawl, he was my alarm clock, waking early and crawling into bed with me. I was startled into conciseness when he wet himself at the start of the day.

My most clear memory of Jason was lying on my bed in the early morning, the house quiet except for his laughter as I gently tossed him into the air. At some point, I held him at arm’s length and studied him. I realized that he was a tiny perfect copy of a man. I examined his hands, his feet, his arms and his legs. He had tiny fingernails and fingerprints, miniature wrists, elbows and shoulders. His nose, eyes, lips and mouth all moved just the way anyone’s would. His hair was finer and his little teeth were perfect. He was human.

Well the years have been hard and the years have been kind.

These past years have taken both parents of mine.

Some things you can change with a wave of your hand

And there are so many things I still don’t understand.

But in a hospital gown standing next to my wife

I’m watching this miracle coming to life.

It’s magic and you don’t want to know

just how it’s done. It would ruin the show.

You’ve just got to believe ’cause believing is what makes it happen.

Oh, it’s nothing but magic.

I started to sing and write again. Not everything that came out of my guitar was happy, but at least I had something new to write about.

Sometime later, I moved out. I traveled to Memphis for a few weeks to try and re-kindle the dream of becoming a famous folk musician, but it was clear that I was not as good as I had believed myself to be. What’s more, I was unwilling to put in the effort to become even a marginal musician.

When I returned home, I dropped into Tim and Lynn’s apartment. Jason recognized me immediately. I bounced him on my lap for hours.

Lynn and Tim moved sometime later. They bought a home near downtown and I decided to file for paternity. At that point, I was no longer welcome in their house. Many of my friends stuck by me. They told Tim if I wasn’t welcome, they would not feel welcome either, but I couldn’t go back. It was just way too uncomfortable.

Twenty-five years ago, there was no DNA testing and blood tests were unreliable. I had heard about a test called an HLA that was being used in California in criminal cases. It was said that it could determine a person’s identity from a blood sample with better than ninety percent certainty. The problem was that there was no existing law in the state of New Mexico to allow this test.

My attorney went to work on the problem. He contacted state legislators he knew and finally got one of them to introduce a bill making this test legal. The benefit to the state would be that they would now be able to make fathers financially responsible for their children, thereby easing the burden of the state welfare roles. The strategy worked and the bill sailed through the legislature in one session. My attorney had always had some political savvy. He’s a district judge these days and I believe that he never billed me for the full amount of time he spent on my case.

I finally got my day in court. The most painful part of the process was having Jason give blood for a paternity test. He screamed in agony when they stuck the needle into him. Lynn scolded me royally for that at the hospital, but the court had ordered it. There was nothing she could do.

On the day we were to go before the judge, Lynn spoke to me for only the second time since I had filed for paternity. In the hallway, before the hearing she asked me why it was that I wanted to screw up Jason’s life. I didn’t answer. In the hearing, my attorney set the results of the test before the judge. Our witness interpreted the results saying that the results showed there was a ninety-eight percent probability that I was Jason’s father. Our entire presentation took less than ten minutes.

Kurt testified on Lynn’s behalf, saying that there was no point in taking a kid away from his family. He didn’t seem to know that I didn’t want custody, just a chance to visit. Finally, Lynn’s attorney wrapped up his side of the case. His argument went something like this: If you took a disassembled typewriter, a monkey and a ream of paper and throw them off of a one hundred-story building, there is a “probability” that the monkey will assemble the typewriter and write a novel before he hits the ground. I knew I had won.

In the hallway, during the recess, Lynn’s attorney stormed up to me. He was large, imposing, 6’4″ tall with silver hair slicked back on his head. “You know” he said, “if you win this, we’re going to ask for back child support for the past 4 years.” I looked past him to Lynn and said clearly, “It’s all in the bank.” He turned on his heel and walked back toward his client.

In the courtroom, the judge conceded that our evidence was strong and that despite the current family situation, I indeed had a right to visit with the child. It was so ordered that I would be allowed to see Jason twice a week for four hours. Lynn never spoke to me again.

As weeks went by, I saw Jason. After six months, Lynn and Tim started to make it tougher to see him, saying the times I had chosen were inconvenient or interfering with the household. I took them back to court and this time the judge decided that “in the best interests of the child” I would only be allowed to see Jason twice a year. I never saw him again.

Lynn and Tim went on with their lives. They had another son and I always had my suspicion that he was not Tim’s child, but only they know that for sure. Year’s later, Tim and Lynn divorced. I went to see him after this happened and he was vague about what had happened to their marriage but he assured me that it had nothing to do with what I had put them through.

A few years later, I saw Tim and asked if he had seen Lynn. He told me that she had come to see him at work and that when she came into the office, she looked as pretty as she ever had and he thought that day they might still have a chance to get back together. Unfortunately, she was only there to tell him that despite their divorce settlement, she was finding it hard to live on the alimony he was paying and that she was going back to court to ask for more. He told me he stopped loving her that day.

When Lynn remarried, Tim had already hooked up with a girl ten of fifteen years younger than him He had finally stopped paying alimony to Lynn when this new girl got pregnant, left him and sued for child support. He had to start paying that money all over again. He looks so much older than he should.

Somewhere along the way, my fight over Jason stopped being about being his father and turned into a flag of self-righteousness and a tool to elicit sympathy. I spent the money I had saved for him. I occasionally drove through the neighborhoods that I believed Lynn might be living in, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. It was more important to me that Jason believe I had done the right thing than he believed me to be his father, although I wouldn’t have known what to say if I had ever found him. I’m sure I would have chickened out at the last minute.

Still, I believed that God had promised me that if I was a good man, that I would see my son again someday. I clung to this promise even though I know in my heart what a corrupt man I have been and continue to be. For my sake, God has been more forgiving than exacting.

–He does not deal with us according to our sins,

 nor repay us according to our iniquities.

¹¹ For as the heavens are high above the earth,

 so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him;

¹² as far as the east is from the west,

so far he removes our transgressions from us.–

.–Psalm 103: 10-12

God has kept his promise. And He has used your father, Tim, as the instrument to deliver you to me. Imagine that. A man I despised for so many years. A man who had paid the terrible price I never had to pay has brought you back to me.

I am forty-seven years old and I have you to deal with in my life. It is what I have always wanted. It is what I have always dreaded. It is guilt and joy and shame and regret all rolled up into a ball that sits in my gut from the moment I wake until the moment I fall to sleep.

“God thank you for the things you have given me, the things you have taken away and the things that you have left for me.” It is a simple prayer that reminds me that God has led me when I have been willing to follow, blessed me mightily all my life and that my only loss has come where I have walked away from Him. Still, He has never abandoned me, is patient with me and continues to bless me despite my obstinacy.

So how do I feel about you? At first I have to say that I don’t know anything about you except what I see superficially, and I have to keep from making the same judgements that other people must make about you. I’m sure that there is more there than meets the eye, but I’ve never been one to get much further than first impressions. I either like you or I don’t. At the moment, I can’t make up my mind and that’s something that is unusual for me.

When I look at you, I see your mother. Her smile, her eyes, her attitude. She was sharp tongued and argumentative. Her wit always turned on puns or word play. You seem to have that ability at another level.

You have her bohemian sensibility. She wore the same clothes every day; jeans and a long sleeve, gray knit top in the winter and fall, a small red halter-top and the same ragged blue jeans in the spring and summer. She never wore underwear and she always wore these great big hiking boots we used to call waffle-stompers, and occasionally sneakers when she wasn’t barefoot altogether. She showered when she wanted, combed her hair if she felt like it and roughhoused with everyone in tomboy fashion.

She made the same choices about men that you do about women, choosing people that are insecure for one reason or another. The insecure person makes an ideal mate. They will do anything you ask, overlook every flaw, forgive every insult and follow you to ruin. They’ll make apologies and excuses, ignore destructive habits and believe any lie. They do this because they believe wholeness comes from acceptance. With luck, a person grows out of this.

All of your mother’s lovers believed that they had stumbled into the greatest love of their lives when in fact they had fallen, or perhaps were pushed, deeper into that pit of inadequacy. It takes years to recover from that kind of love.

Unfortunately, it always ends the same, with both parties finding themselves trapped in a relationship that neither can extricate themselves from, one afraid that love will never find them again and the other ashamed of the damage that will surely be done to someone once loved. I know this because I have lived on both sides of these relationships.

I don’t hate your mother. I did spend years hating her, resenting her, blaming her and even missing her. I forgave her in my heart long ago and it is one of my greatest regrets that I was never able to get her to forgive me. I am greatly responsible for the life she has lived. Had I not given in to my lust, she may have had other options in life, at least early on. I don’t really think of her anymore except when she pops up in my dreams occasionally. She’s always 17 to me.

When I look at you, I see myself as a young man. My problem is that I was never happy as that young man. In hindsight, I see that I was selfish and shallow, hollow and lazy. I was someone who took for granted all of the people around me and never made restitution for the wrong I did. I never took responsibility for my own actions and years later it is almost too late to make good the debt.

Although you are decidedly different, I wonder if I have left you a legacy of disdain that you can’t escape. Had I put more effort into fighting for you, I might not feel the remorse that I do today. After years of putting the thought of you aside, I believed that maybe I had dodged a bullet and that losing you had really been a good thing. I convinced myself that you were somehow better off without me. How selfish of me to make you carry that feeling of abandonment throughout your youth. And now my legacy may be that I gave you the tools to create the indifference that I so completely embraced.

Part of me worries that you’ll use me. That you’ll become complacent and ignore who I am and who I could be to you. I look at you and I know it’s a place you’ve been before.

Your mother is clever. I’ll bet she still thinks of me as a sucker. She could smell one a mile away. I have the smallest suspicion that she pointed you in my direction throughout your adolescence, always rejecting my existence with just enough theatre to make it credible. A 2^nd father conspiracy that is made all the more believable by denial. Years of exhaustion or desperation may have brought you here more than curiosity.

You have her positive qualities as well. Strength, intelligence and a hunger for answers. Grit and determination to soldier on even when the direction you’re going may be the wrong direction. You would rather hammer your way through life on your own terms rather than change direction or take one step backward. Admirable, but foolish. Still, it is only my opinion and one formed with only a few hours of observation. I can help, but I doubt that you want my help.

It has always been my feeling that a child should hope to recognize the mistakes their parents made and try to avoid them. The fact is that most children become their parents despite their best efforts to run away from their legacy. Like Jonah sailing away from Ninevah, we are swallowed by the whale and spit up on shore at a destination least desired.  

What dreams sprouted in your head with my absence? What dreams were revoked? What conclusion exposed? I’m sure I must have seemed better as smoke, as a myth. How disappointed you must be.

It’s Magic-Copyright 1999 by Tim Bays and Dave Allen

My baby will never have a chance in life and I’m the blame

How selfish and foolish I was with nothing to gain

Given another chance I would never abort again

I went to someone and was told I should

I went to others and [...]]]> I’m the mother who just aborted her baby. I’m so ashamed

My baby will never have a chance in life and I’m the blame

How selfish and foolish I was with nothing to gain

Given another chance I would never abort again

I went to someone and was told I should

I went to others and was told if they were me they would

Some friends even said, a baby you can’t even afford

How foolish was I because I never ask God

He would have said no, He commanded us not to murder

It was wrong of me to accept the ungodly advice of others

I murdered my baby, now I feel nothing but sorrow

Because for my baby, there will be no tomorrow

How can I go on living with this guilt in my heart?

It won’t go away, oh God, when will  this guilt depart?

I can still feel my baby being torn away from me

I have done something horrible and I feel  like I can never be free

My helpless little baby I once carried is now gone

Why did I murder my baby when it only wanted to be born?

Hopefully, one day, I’ll be able to forgive myself, maybe

For taking away the life of my innocent little baby

I often think now “What can I do?” Nothing; it’s too late

I’ve committed murder, and Hell is my eternal fate

My baby is gone, what a horrible price I’ll have to pay

No matter what I do, this feeling of guilt won’t go away

I’m trapped in a world filled with darkness

I’ve tried to sleep, but I can’t get any rest

When I lie down, I can hear my baby’s voice

Begging me, “Mom, don’t take my life, this is your choice”

I didn’t listen, so how can I go on living?

With this vision of what I did to my helpless baby

I had a choice, but I listened to everybody else

Now I’m left to carry this burden all by myself

How could I have done something so ungodly?

When I had the choice, because this is my body

Oh God I was wrong, will you forgive me please?

I was the one who disobeyed you and murdered my baby

I’ve heard you sent your only son to die on the cross

Today I repent for my sins, because I don’t want to be lost

Christ, please come into my heart and give me a new start

I know this road will be long, life won’t be easy because of what I’ve done

But I know with God’s love and mercy, I will overcome

Thank you God for giving me a second chance

 Today you are my life, my Lord, and my Savior

Because  you are the Holy one who has granted me your favor

It is my profession. Nothing is safe from me.

Your darkened home is my domain.

Your purse, your ox, your children, your wife all are within my reach.

All that catches my eye is mine to possess.

Maybe it’s the danger. [...]]]> I am a very a good thief. There is nothing I cannot steal.

It is my profession. Nothing is safe from me.

Your darkened home is my domain.

Your purse, your ox, your children, your wife all are within my reach.

All that catches my eye is mine to possess.

Maybe it’s the danger. The thrill of getting caught appeals.

It is all I’ve ever known. It came so naturally.

The darkness is my ally.

It hides my deeds, my guilt, my shame. It masks all that I am.

It has always consumed the light. It possesses me.

One day I was caught up by righteous men of strength.

My luck had run out. My secret revealed.

Justice would soon be passed

All that I have done would now be shown to the world.

I would be on display an example of recrimination.

They hung me on a cross with yet another thief.

A brother of the art. A citizen of darkened places.

Between us was a carpenter.

A man without the stain of larceny. Without the stain of sin.

And yet, his punishment was more brutal than our own.

My brother taunted. Out of pain he lashed out.

But this man had only pity for us both.

His compassion extended beyond the cross.

As he was pulled apart He forgave those around Him

He turned to look at me and in his eyes I found God

This man had done no wrong. Had committed no crime.

We thieves deserved our fate for all that we were.

I asked him to remember me

when he came before his God. He promised to take me to paradise.

He became my advocate, my judge, my redeemer.

I was a very a good thief. There was nothing I could not steal.

It was my profession. Nothing was safe from me.

The darkened world was my domain.

All was within my reach. All was mine to possess.

And in the end God allowed me to steal heaven.

A happy and blessed easter to all.—Jose Antonio Ponce

“The kids have been wonderful about accepting me as part of their lives and I wanted to do something special [...]]]> A friend of mine was concerned about the upcoming holiday season. Recently married to a man with two young children, she and her husband were at a loss as what to do about traditions.

“The kids have been wonderful about accepting me as part of their lives and I wanted to do something special for the holidays.”

The problem is, she continued, they have no family traditions established for when they come to her house.

There are many in the same position as my friend. Some families are a two religion household. Some decide that the customs and traditions of their childhood aren’t what they now need; still others grew up with out any real traditions but wish they had.

The solution? Create your own traditions.

Holiday traditions become something special because of the memories associated with them. Some are religious, like lighting special candles or serving ethnic foods symbolic of your faith. Others are just generic fun. Anything you do for a holiday can become a tradition.

If you have become a step-parent recently and this is the first holiday together with the children, be innovative. Ask them what they would like to do and honor their requests for special food or customs. Remember, familiarity to a child is comforting. But do introduce new traditions, ones that you create as a blended family.

It can be as simple as having hot chocolate with whipped cream after dinner or as elaborate as putting special decorations with each family member’s name imprinted on them in a place of honor.

If you and your husband are of different faiths or belief systems, create something that is distinctly yours as a couple. One husband and wife I met have a tradition that is special to them. They make heart-shaped breads filled with raisins and currents every year. It symbolizes their love. This year they have begun making the breads as gifts for their friends too.

Another couple has a tradition of having two dinner parties, a week apart, for both of their families. At one they serve traditional Jewish food, at the other traditional Italian food. Both families learn to appreciate each other in a friendly gathering. They look forward to this cultural exchange every year. Holding to old traditions and customs is warm and loving but creating new traditions to enjoy every year is exciting and fun.

Traditions are something that make memories. Make a few new ones this year.

©2010 Kristen Houghton

And Then I’ll Be Happy! available in Book and Kindle

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Happiness Keys 

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http://twitter.com/kristenhoughton

Jesus was a Jew. He spoke the Jewish language, lived the Jewish life, and was very active in the Jewish community. Jesus studied and learned the Old Testament in His growing years, as well as celebrated the Jewish feasts and festivals. It makes sense that Jesus would use the culture, [...]]]>

Jesus was a Jew. He spoke the Jewish language, lived the Jewish life, and was very active in the Jewish community. Jesus studied and learned the Old Testament in His growing years, as well as celebrated the Jewish feasts and festivals. It makes sense that Jesus would use the culture, language, and traditions He was surrounded by, to send His new covenant message to the world throughout the ages. This is why it is vital, we as Christians, understand the full impact of His Jewish involvement. It should also be understood that the Jewish culture today is not the same culture of Jesus’ day. This is the reason we must study the complete context of the New Testament. The Jewish community has a way of understanding and interpreting scriptures Christians have not fully embraced. Understanding Jesus’ Jewish life reveals the fullness of His saving grace. He doesn’t want us to miss one syllable of His promise.

Do you remember what your parents taught when you were a child? You learned you can’t place a square peg in a round hole. Today’s world is not the world Jesus lived. We can’t place our ideals and perspective and apply them to the New Testament believing we have the answers. Instead, we must step outside our current worldview and realize His Jewish lifestyle and the message He delivered.

Jesus’ was an educated Jew. In fact, He was a synagogue Jew. The people gathered to hear Him teach in the synagogue. In fact, they gave him the title of “Rabbi,” or “Rabboni,” which means teacher . This is no small feat. Anyone who has been given a title of Rabbi during that period indicates an acceptance of his well-received status, wisdom, and qualification as a Jewish teacher. What’s interesting, is the synagogue is a Pharisee-directed institution, and not an institution that would accept anyone to teach within their establishment. But Jesus was influential, and certainly, involved in the community; even with the Pharisees.

Jesus had a relationship with the Pharisees? Yes! Jesus had a relationship and was accepted to dine with the Pharisees (Luke 7:36). The Pharisees had a close “table-fellowship” with one another and did not accept people outside of their realm of influence. “Pharisees,” as their Hebrew name indicates, are “people who are separate.” But Jesus was accepted and even invited into their realm of influence.

The Pharisees were not people who sought to destroy the Hebrew faith. They were people who interpreted the Torah and opened the door for continual interpretation . Don’t forget, Paul was a Pharisee (Acts 23:6). The Pharisees played a vital role in the day of Jesus. The travesty for Christians is that we missed the connection of Jesus and the Pharisees. Jesus corrected ideas and theologies that attempted to limit God. God can’t be placed in a box. How can man, who is a finite being, describe God, an infinite being?

Let’s review some interesting facts in church history. About 144BCE, a man named Marcion caused a tremendous stir in the Christian community. His heretical teachings brought about a tremendous ripple of destruction throughout the ages. He eliminated the Old Testament as a legitimate source of Scriptural reference as well as diverted teachings from the full and complete understanding of Jesus Jewish life. He taught that the God of the Old Testament God was mean and evil and the New Testament God was loving and kind; two different Gods!

Even though the church identified Marcion as a heretic, he remained influential and his heresies were delivered over the years to various Christian communities. This is why many Christians believe the Old Testament isn’t important. Several years ago, our Pastor instructed our church, “There’s one page that is worthless in the Bible. It serves no purpose and must be ripped from your Bible! That page is the blank page that divides the Old and New Testament!”

It may seem innocent, but the blank page, brings a division in our minds that must be destroyed. The Old and New Testament is one complete story and magnificent story. They should be studied as a complete story. In fact, the Old Testament points in the direction of the New Testament; and the New Testament contains the Old. Our God today is the same God who was then. He didn’t change beyond the blank page (Heb. 13:8).

These facts reveal we can’t deny the Jewishness of Jesus. His Jewishness, and the message he brought through the Hebrew faith, are what offers Christians a broad vision of His living message.

I know this message is difficult for many Christians. However, we need to be willing to receive the message He originally intended through the scope of His culture. By eliminating the Old Testament, or believing there were two different Gods, separates Christians from the missing puzzle piece that would enlarge their spirits. In fact, many people carry Bibles that only contain the New Testament! They did more than remove the blank page; they removed the foundation of the Christian belief. In doing this, they completely removed the complete depth of God’s message and established what they considered to be, the right to eliminate the perspective of the Jewish influence in Christ’s life as a Jew. This maneuver dominos to an animosity towards the Jews for the death of Jesus. The reality is, the Jews didn’t kill Jesus; nor did the Romans. Jesus offered himself as a perfect sacrifice for all of us. We are sinners and need salvation. We needed saving then, we need saving today, and we will need saving tomorrow. Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sins (Heb. 9:22). Jesus serves as the perfect sacrificial lamb (Joh. 1:29; Joh. 1:36).

When Christians throw their fists at the Jews, they turn against their brothers. Anti-semitism was developed by Satan to further divide Christians and Jews. It’s disheartening to see people defy God’s command to love one another to despise people for an event they believe their hate is justified. Hate against a people, community, or individual is never justified.

We, as Christians, can learn a great deal from our brothers, the Jews. It’s important to understand the environment Jesus lived. He used the language, tradition, and culture of the Jews to bring a message to the world. Therefore, to understand the message, we need to understand the culture. We need to understand the Jewishness of Jesus. Within His Jewish life, Jesus gave a passionate statement to the world for all times. Don’t miss the message. Jesus was a Jew. Learn Him then – and know Him intimately now.

Janice F. Baca

1 Corinthians 1:3  Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ. 4  I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ; 5  That in every thing ye are enriched by him, in all [...]]]>

1 Corinthians 1:3  Grace be unto you, and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ. 4  I thank my God always on your behalf, for the grace of God which is given you by Jesus Christ; 5  That in every thing ye are enriched by him, in all utterance, and in all knowledge; 6  Even as the testimony of Christ was confirmed in you: 7  So that ye come behind in no gift; waiting for the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ: 8  Who shall also confirm you unto the end, that ye may be blameless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Paul says Christ was confirmed in the Corinthians by the gifts they received. The only gifts that would confirm are spiritual gifts. These people were to be confirmed by spiritual gifts unto the end. What end? They were to be confirmed, behind in no gift, waiting for the coming of the Lord. The spiritual gifts were to help them be blameless in the “day of our Lord Jesus Christ.” That’s the end.

Paul is clear that the Corinthians were to have spiritual gifts unto the coming of the Lord. Those spiritual gifts were to confirm them, and the gifts would not go away because they were to keep the Corinthians blameless “in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Ephesians 4:7  But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ.
8  Wherefore he saith, When he ascended up on high, he led captivity captive, and gave gifts unto men.
9  (Now that he ascended, what is it but that he also descended first into the lower parts of the earth?
10  He that descended is the same also that ascended up far above all heavens, that he might fill all things.)
11  And he gave some, apostles; and some, prophets; and some, evangelists; and some, pastors and teachers;
12  For the perfecting of the saints, for the work of the ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ:
13  Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ:

Paul says all these people (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers) would remain until the Ephesians all came in the unity of the faith and the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man. When would that be? Well, we already know that the spiritual gifts were to remain unto the end, which was the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. And prophets and the apostles had spiritual gifts. We can therefore know that prophets and apostles must remain until the “coming of the Lord” and “the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Now, some might say, “Well, we still have all of these to confirm us except the apostles and prophets, but we have the WRITINGS of the apostles and prophets so in a way we still have them too.” That might be an easy way out, but I don’t think it’s wise to dismiss the apostles and prophets so easily. If we can dismiss them, let’s dismiss the evangelists, pastors, and teachers too! Even if it were the case that the apostles’ and prophets’ writings count as their still being here, we must remember that the spiritual gifts themselves were to remain unto the end–until the coming of the Lord, until the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

We must also remember that these words of Paul’s were not written to you and me. They were written to the Corinthians. The Corinthians, living at the time Paul wrote, were to be confirmed by spiritual gifts unto the END, unto the coming of the Lord, unto the day of the Lord.

1 Corinthians 13:9  For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. 10  But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. 11  When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 12  For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

What is Paul saying here? He’s saying that the Corinthians had prophecies but they knew only in part. They had spiritual gifts but they still knew only in part. But they would someday know as they were known and spiritual gifts would disappear. BUT these Christians were, as we saw earlier, to KEEP those spiritual gifts and not be behind in any gift while waiting for the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ, who would confirm them with these gifts unto the END, that they might be blameless in the day of the Lord.

Now, either these Corinthians are still alive and waiting, and spiritual gifts still remain to confirm Christians, OR the day of the Lord has come and we no longer need the gifts nor do we any longer see through a glass darkly but instead we see face to face. So which is it? Do we still have spiritual gifts? Can we speak in tongues and prophesy? Can we raise the dead? If we drink poison will we not die? Can we take up serpents and not be killed? Can we lay our hands on the sick and make them well? Can we raise people from the grave? I can’t do any of those things and don’t know anyone who can.

So what does that mean? It MEANS that spiritual gifts are no more. And what does THAT mean? It means that the end has come. It means the day of the Lord is past.

Again, in I Corinthians 13:10, Paul says that when that which is perfect came, those Christians would see face to face and know even as they were known. Spiritual gifts were in force during this “seeing in part” time. These gifts were given as an earnest or down payment (II Co 5:5), to sustain, confirm, and comfort the church. Just as the physical needs of the Israelites (water, manna, quail, and shoes and clothes that wouldn’t wear out) were provided for while they wandered in the wilderness for forty years, until they entered the promised land, so the spiritual needs of Christians (spiritual gifts) were provided for–unto the coming of the Lord, when they would no longer see in part but would see face to face, and be in the promised land–the New Jerusalem.

Have you thought about the fact that forty years also passed from the time Christianity began to the destruction of Jerusalem? Even more interesting, 3000 souls were destroyed when Moses got the Ten Commandments and 3000 souls were saved when Peter preached at Pentecost (Ex 32:28, Acts 2:41)? Moses and the Law were a type. He got the Law, they wandered forty years (being fed by God), they entered the promised land. Christ’s law came, Christians “wandered” forty years (being fed by God), then entered the promised land.

Revelation 22:3  And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 4  And they shall see his face [I Co 13:12]; and his name shall be in their foreheads. 5 And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever.

Looking at Revelation 22:3 and I Corinthians 13:12, we can see that when spiritual gifts ceased Christians would be able to see God’s face. Looking at I Corinthians 1:3 we can know that God would confirm with spiritual gifts until the coming of the Lord. At some point Christians were able, or will be able, to see the face of God and no longer need spiritual gifts–at the coming of the Lord. Either this has happened already or we ought to still have spiritual gifts to confirm us.

The greatest love story that has never been told.

Most of our preconceived ideas about Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden come from John Milton’s epic poem “Paradise Lost,” published in 1667. He took the Genesis account and greatly expanded it using his creative flair. Milton [...]]]> Edible – The New Faith

The greatest love story that has never been told.

Most of our preconceived ideas about Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden come from John Milton’s epic poem “Paradise Lost,” published in 1667. He took the Genesis account and greatly expanded it using his creative flair. Milton used his imagination to create “behind the scenes” conversations with God, Satan, and various angels. His additions to the Genesis account have become imbedded in our culture and have caused many people to mistakenly think Milton’s account is found in the Bible. Not bad marketing technique for ‘backward times’!

The Bible account is found in Genesis:

26 Then God said, “Let us make people in our image, to be like ourselves. They will be masters over all life–the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the livestock, wild animals, and small animals.”

27 So God created people in his own image; God patterned them after himself; male and female he created them.

28 God blessed them and told them, “Multiply and fill the earth and subdue it. Be masters over the fish and birds and all the animals.”

29 And God said, “Look! I have given you the seed-bearing plants throughout the earth and all the fruit trees for your food.

30 And I have given all the grasses and other green plants to the animals and birds for their food.” And so it was.

31 Then God looked over all he had made, and he saw that it was excellent in every way. This all happened on the sixth day.

So how would it be if we took a look at the circumstances around Adam and Eve, were they in love? How old were they and how did they come to be? Perhaps God had seen that his world was not as it should be. That in his eyes, and, he needed to start again with two mortals that he had chosen. Humans who were without the evils that Satan had infected others with. Perhaps the Genesis days were not a mere 24 hours, but a longer period of time measured in years, or, even longer.

God wanted a clean slate with mankind the devil was on top and winning more souls than clean ones could be delivered. Doomsday scenario. Imagine if Satan actually said to God, “Look this is getting crazy, I have too many souls to deal with here. What are you going to do about it, can I help?”

Could that happen?

Catch up with Edible – The Faith at http://nightreading.ning.com/

Bruce Essar

It has been a long time, but I still feel so alone

I realize the day will come when I will heal

But right now I miss you and that’s just the way I feel

As the days come and the nights go

Many have asked, ”are you okay”? most [...]]]> My darling love, God decided to call you home

It has been a long time, but I still feel so alone

I realize the day will come when I will heal

But right now I miss you and that’s just the way I feel

As the days come and the nights go

Many have asked, ”are you okay”? most of the times I’ll say no

I often sit and think about the time when we first met

Those are the times I’m not willing to let you go of, no not yet

I can’t forget the first time you held my hand

You were gentle; I knew you were a godly man

And oh I remember how happy you were on our wedding day

You Whispered “I love you” in the sweetest way

There were times when I was sick and couldn’t get out of bed

You sat by me, held my hand and gently rubbed my head

I also remember when God blessed us with our first child

Your face glowed, with the biggest smile

I will never forget when she took her first step

We felt helpless because  she didn’t need our help

I can clearly hear the vows we made to each other

It was  in death  we would depart from one another

That day has come and now you have left me

I know you are in heaven  happy and free

I will miss you my darling love

But I know I’ll  fnd the strenght to keep on living

Because  Christ lives in my heart and I have memories

I never would have joined a gang and taken such a risk

Being part of a gang seemed really exciting to me

But it was a mistake this I can finally see

It’s to late now I’ve already joined

I wish I had listened [...]]]> If I had known my life would turn out like this

I never would have joined a gang and taken such a risk

Being part of a gang seemed really exciting to me

But it was a mistake this I can finally see

It’s to late now I’ve already joined

I wish I had listened to my mother, I’m her only son

She said to me “Son, what you are doing is  wrong”

 I didn’t care; the gang needed me because I was strong

Things were great; I got to hang out on the streets at night

Doing things I knew weren’t right

You see, in the gang my boys showed me love

They weren’t even ashamed to give me a  hug

I could feel the love they had for me

Things were great because I got to run wild and free

Pretty soon I was drinking and doing drugs

I kept telling myself this life  really rocks

But, deep down inside, I missed my mother a lot

I would lay in bed at night wondering why

 Thinking about leaving  the gang, but I knew if I did I would die

 After a whiIe I felt trapped, I wasn’t having much fun

Then things got serious, I had to carry a gun

I developed habits that I  surely couldn’t afford

 I didn’t want to work because having a job wasn’t cool

I know that sounds like the thoughts of a fool

One day I needed a fix, I shot and robbed an old lady

I didn’t care about anything. I would even attack a mother and her baby

You must understand, on the streets I was known as a gangster

And the idea of me getting out, of the gang, I knew the answer

If I tried, I knew my boys will shoot me dead

 I did what I had to do, pretending not to be afraid

It was my boys I made a vow to

I did whatever they asked me to do

One night things got heated when another gang came on the east side

A fight started and no one backed down, both gangs had a lot of pride

They finally left,  no one got hurt or killed.

But we were angry and made a vow not to sit still

We immediately started to plan a drive by

I was excited; I thought finally an eye for an eye

We jumped into our cars late one night

And went to a house and waited until no one was in sight

We fired about twenty rounds into  that house

I said to myself, “I know we took someone out”

We drove away yelling and screaming until we were out of breath

Not knowing that we had shot two children to death

When I heard, I asked God to have mercy, because I was truly hurt

I wasn’t all bad; you see my mom brought me up in church

I knew about God, but it’s to late, He can’t help me now

 I never trusted Him and to Him I never make a vow

We were on the run and now it is each man for himself

Hey! Where are my boys now when I need thier help?

What happened to the commitment we made to each other?

Oh God, please help me! If I had only listened to my mother

The thought of killing those children nearly drove me crazy

Even though I was not the one who pulled the trigger

I was at the scene, I was just as guilty

I turned myself in because it was hard living with the pain

Besides, running away for the rest of my life, what is there to gain?

I was sentenced and the judge gave me twenty years jail

Seeing my mother there really hurt, because it was her I failed

I was thrown in jail and the doors were locked

All the trouble in my past, I tried to block out

This was a new beginning , I wanted something real

I needed something  I couldn’t see, but something I could feel

I began attending church one night

It was there I found what was missing in my life

It was my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Lord, please forgive me for joining this gang

Thank you for not taking my life with just a bang

Christ, I have you in my life and I am a changed man

Living my life for you is now my desired plan.

There  is still a major problem with gangs where I live.  I wrote this piece  for that troubled youth who may be thinking about joing a gang. I want hw or she to know that gangs aren’t all they are geared up to be. Be blessed!

When they are opened, what will you have to say?

Will Christ find your name in both or just one?

If it’s not in the Lamb’s Book of Life

It means you did not accept Jesus Christ

The other is a record [...]]]> There are two books that will be opened in Heaven one day

When they are opened, what will you have to say?

Will Christ find your name in both or just one?

If it’s not in the Lamb’s Book of Life

It means you did not accept Jesus Christ

The other is a record book; it will list the deeds we all have done

Everyone will be in the Record Book, but not The Lamb’s Book of Life

Many of you have worked hard, but never accepted Christ

And without Him, you won’t be rewarded for your good deeds

Why do the work? Without Christ, there is no need

Because your works are dead without Him in your life

It doesn’t matter that you thought the work you did was right

Many of you have worked hard; you thought that was all it took

Not knowing that your name would only be in the Record Book

If your name is in the Record Book only, your work was done in vain

It’s too late; you’ll never have the chance to accept Christ again

If your name is in both books, this is good

Many won’t have rewards because they didn’t work as hard as they could

You’ve earned eternal life, but there are no rewards for you

Because you thought that accepting Christ was all you had to do

Yes, Christ will open two books one day,

Will He find your name in the Lamb’s Book of Life?

Or will He say I never knew you and send you away?

If He sends you away, you’ll go to the Lake of Fire to stay.

You’ll be spiritually separated from God throughout eternity

There will be no more of God’s grace , or His mercy

Why not accept Christ in your heart and be saved today?

 Ask Him; He is waiting to  give you His Grace!

He loves and adores Christ and in all things Christ is first

A father indeed trains up his children as instructed by the Lord

He seeks advice from God through prayer and the Holy Word

A father indeed does not provoke his children [...]]]> A  father indeed strives daily to possess the attributes of Christ

He loves and adores Christ and in all things Christ is first

A father indeed trains up his children as instructed by the Lord

He seeks advice from God through prayer and the Holy Word

A father indeed does not provoke his children to wrath

Instead he leads them down a holy and righteous path

He demonstrates his love and disciplines his children by using the rod

A father, indeed, teaches his children how to honor, respect, and obey God

Whether single or divorced he assists in raising his children

He is one his children can look up to for spiritual guidance

A father, indeed, will set aside quality time to spend with his children

He praises them when they do well and corrects them when they do wrong

He takes every opportunity to teach them how to be like Christ, God’s only son

A father indeed works hard to give his children all they need

He is firm and never lets his children disrespect their mother

A father, indeed, if married, he brings the family to church together

He believes this is what God expects of him

A father, indeed, is never puffed up and full of pride

He loves his children; he turns off the garbage on television to protect their minds

He fears God out of reverence and is given wisdom, knowledge and understanding

A father, indeed, invests in his children, rather than the things of the world

He is concerned about their well being and spiritual growth

He is honest and never makes broken promises to his children

A father indeed, teaches his son how to be a godly man, not a thug

And his daughter he showers with plenty of hugs

A father, indeed, is one to be recognized and honored

Especially when he models himself after God, the Heavenly Father

It’s become the new Christmas tradition; a handful of people who demand that everyone else stop celebrating Christmas by displaying manger scenes in public places or stop singing Christmas carols in school, or stop saying “Merry Christmas.”

These people are annoying twits, but they too often get their [...]]]> America’s Christmas Wars

By Alan Caruba

It’s become the new Christmas tradition; a handful of people who demand that everyone else stop celebrating Christmas by displaying manger scenes in public places or stop singing Christmas carols in school, or stop saying “Merry Christmas.”

These people are annoying twits, but they too often get their way because the courts back them with the claim that the state cannot condone any religious expression in public places. Given the long history of religious faith and practice from the nation’s founding and earlier, this is as idiotic as it gets. It runs contrary to America’s long tradition of tolerance.

In November, the U.S. Third Circuit Court of Appeals ruled in Stratechuk v Board of Education, South Orange-Maplewood School District. It upheld the district’s policy banning celebratory religious holiday music at school-sponsored holiday concerts.

While holiday music could still be taught in music classes and songs with religious content “not specifically related to the holidays” could be performed in concerts, the music of Christmas was banned. The court rejected the plaintiff’s claim that the school was unconstitutionally restricting student’s access to ideas.

“Those of us who were educated in the public schools remember holiday celebrations replete with Christmas carols, and possibly even Chanukah songs, to which no objections had been raised. Since then, the governing principles have been examined and defined with more particularlty,” said Judge Delores Korman Sloviter in the 22-page opinion.

The controversy dates to 2004 when the Maplewood-South Orange district extended a 20-year-old 1990 ban on singing religious songs in school performances to include instrumental versions of those songs. An appeal of the decision is being considered.

Many, many years prior to the 1990 ban, I passed through the Maplewood-South Orange schools, from kindergarten to graduation from twelfth grade. In the earliest years, America was at war in Europe and the Pacific. In Europe, it was not only against the law to sing Chanuka songs, it was against the law to be a Jew and punishable by death. Following victory in 1945, Christmas took on a particularly joyous quality when the troops returned home and began families. In 1955 I bade goodbye to Columbia High School.

All through those years, Christian and Jewish students sang Christmas carols, many about a world at peace with good will to all men. In my experience, none of the Jewish students ever gave a single thought to singing the carols beyond sharing the joy with their Christian friends. Those songs brought everyone together.

Now they drive apart those who respect the traditions of all religions and those atheists who insist that everyone else reject belief in a higher power or give voice to it. Not content with toleration, they appeal to the courts and, as is the case in New Jersey, they get their way.

I am no jurist, but it seems to me that the First Amendment says “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof or abridging the freedom of speech…” Singing a Christmas carol or Chanuka song is not the “establishment” of religion and banning them in school-sponsored “holiday” concerts is a complete absurdity. Too bad the U.S. Third Circuit Court can’t understand this.

For myself, I am happy that I attended Maplewood’s school in what surely were better times, guided by teachers who taught us that we could all take joy in each other’s holiday celebrations.

My judgment day has finally come in the sport of baseball.  I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I got off of the airplane at Midway Airport in Chicago, IL: “Holy crap, I’m in Illinois…to play baseball!”  I can close my eyes and see myself standing at the terminal, saying [...]]]> September 20, 2009

My judgment day has finally come in the sport of baseball.  I’ll never forget the feeling I had when I got off of the airplane at Midway Airport in Chicago, IL: “Holy crap, I’m in Illinois…to play baseball!”  I can close my eyes and see myself standing at the terminal, saying this to myself.  Coming from a small town, I am always in awe of the big city lights and being in Chicago for the first time definitely gave me a little culture shock.

Today itself has been quite the day and I haven’t even done anything baseball related.  It started bright and early at 3am to get prepared for my flight out of Stewart Airport in Newburgh, NY.  I definitely forgot what it was like to wake up and start the day before the sun rises.  Getting in the car with my father and riding to the airport was one of the most nerve-racking experiences I’ve ever had to deal with.  In today’s World, people travel all over the country constantly.  I have done my far share of travelling, but flying hasn’t exactly been on my radar.

As if preparing for a 6am flight from Newburgh to Chicago wasn’t enough, it was my first time flying– ever.  Needless to say, I was quite apprehensive about it.  Thankfully, my uncle and father brought me to the airport the day before to see the layout of the terminal since I haven’t been in an airport for quite some time.  It was hard leaving home because the most difficult thing for me to do in my life is saying goodbye to loved ones.  Heck, since Friday I have said goodbye to all of the guys I help coach at Sacred Heart, my girlfriend, my family, and a couple of close friends.  I was exhausted just saying goodbye before I even woke up on the morning of my flight.  Once I can get past the whole goodbye thing and get myself settled and comfortable in Illinois, I’ll be on edge for a little while.

My first flight went smooth (thank God) as well as my connection in Detroit and I was on my way to Chicago.  I think that the biggest fear that I had about this whole tryout was that the other players would be extremely cocky, even though we’re all looking for a professional contract.  I’ve only met one guy so far, but I’m happy to say that he’s a down-to-earth, nice guy that just loves to play baseball, wants to have a good time, but is going to stay focused on the task at hand.  That definitely helped ease my nerves a little bit.

However, there are plenty more hurdles that I need to jump.  Here I am, sitting on a bed at the Fairfield Inn Hotel in Joliet, IL, waiting for my roommate to arrive.  I haven’t had one since sophomore year of college, and I have gotten extremely used to having a bedroom by myself.  I was fortunate to room with some great guys that made my college experience very enjoyable.  I know that God has taken care of this detail for my trip before I even left, but that can only settle my nerves so much.  I’m tired of waiting; I would just like to get this tryout started so I’m not wondering what it’s going to be like anymore.  Not that I would want to skip the whole introductory part, but if it can go a little faster, that would be lovely.

Then again, I’m sure that these next three weeks are going to fly by with all of the baseball being played, so I know that each moment needs to be savored and not gulped.  It has been a very early and long day with a whirlwind of emotions flying around in my head from the minute I opened my eyes.  This all feels like a surreal experience.  I have been chomping at the bit for the opportunity to play for a professional contract, and now that the time has finally arrived, I want to pinch myself every five minutes to make sure this is all really happening.  A vast majority of people that I have come into contact with as a player would have never thought I would make it to this point, but now the joke is on those who once doubted me.  As soon as this once in a lifetime opportunity finally sets in, then I’ll be thirsty enough to take a sip.