Slaying the Beast

I was amazed at the  intensity and how easily the fury of a 31-year-old grudge returned to life last night after bumping into an old acquaintance. In retrospect maybe I should not have been so surprised by the ferocity of this beast since it had been feasting on my soul for all that time. I was already in a less than joyous mood at the time due to dealing with parental health issues, so that may have heightened the experience.  However, I am pleased to report that through maturity I was able to show great personal restraint (with a little divine intervention I am sure) and that no one was injured or went to jail.

For the past twenty four hours I have been wondering what other beast are laying in wait in the depths of my spirit.  Furthermore, thinking about what damage they are doing even while in hibernation which brings me to this:  The first step in beast slaying is to recognize the beast as such.  Beast can be very deceptive and evasive.   More often than not they are posing as something else entirely, sometimes even a virtue.  Esau held a grudge against his brother Jacob and look what happened to him.  The Lord turned his mountains into a wasteland and left his inheritance to the desert jackals.  Not a fate I want to share.  I need some knee time.

Slaying the beast, RT

A Haunting Tale

Disclaimer:  Those of you who suppect I might be crazy, this could comfirm it.  Those who think I am sane, this may cause you to doubt your assumption.

We are part of a society searching for life’s and death’s answers under every stone, in the bottom of every glass of tea, and even from our deceased relatives.  If you don’t beleive me just take a look at our media, it is awash in the paranormal.  From movies and television to the printed page….paranormal sells!  Research it yourself…I’ll wait.

I am ashamed to admit that I bought into this paranormal pitch lock, stock and barrel.  My interest was peaked when I moved into a new home in 2002.  Immediately after moving in odd things began to happen.  Without going into distracting detail, we experienced unexplained voices, shadow figures, things being moved, and the trademark bumps in the night.  We prayed,  researched, fasted, and contacted someone experienced in spiritual warfare.  After a Christian cleansing and blessing of the home, the activity ceased for approximately one month.  After that month passed, Katy bar the door!  It came back with a fury.  This time with an increase in the frequency and severity.  At times it would actually call us by name!

At this point, much to my shame, I contacted two “paranormal research” groups.  They came with cameras, audio recorders, meters, thermometers and left with a strong “evidence” and a belief that our house was haunted by ghosts of  numerous Native Americans who were attached to the land. 

It is now seven years later and the activity is much deminished, but not completely gone.  But what is completely deminished is my belief in the paranormal and ghost.  Through my growth in the Word over the past few years I am convinced that what we were being duped into beleiving was a lingering departed human spirit is actually a non-human demon spirit.  I am not talking Hollywoods version of a demon, but rather a biblical version of a demon whose sole purpose is to deceive.  And deceive they did. 

If you are a Christian and find yourself drawn to the paranormal please research for yourself what the Word says about it.  The following link might be a place to start: http://www.gotquestions.org/ghosts-hauntings.html  Don’t take my word for it, prayerfully search the Word for yourself.

Living in the Light, RT

Blessing Blunder

There is something I don’t quite understand…..be kind now….I know what you are thinking; there is a lot he doesn’t seem to understand.  However, this one has been bothering me for awhile now.  I have been hearing prayers by numerous people including some pastors in which they begin by saying, “Lord we bless you”.  Now my theology is not that deep, but is that even possible?

As I understand the word blessing in biblical terms it is a ‘favor or gift bestowed by God.’   I know for a fact that I have been blessed by God on countless occasions.  I further believe God has blessed me through the actions of others and hopefully He has been able to use me to bring His blessing to others from time to time.  But to say that we have the capacity to bless God….really?

Maybe our actions can be pleasing to God on occasion, but a blessing…I don’t think that  is possible.  Blessing are divine and we are not.  I might be arguing semantics, but shouldn’t we be singing praises to Him for the blessing He has bestowed upon us?

And if we want to bless someone, why don’t we put ourselves out there in a position where God can use us as a blessing to someone else?  You know what I mean?

May God bless you and praise be unto Him, RT.

Reflections on Advent

Now, I realize Advent season has come and gone, but now is a good time to reflect on the Christmas of recent past….Secularly, advent is defined as the coming or arrival, especially of something extremely important, such as the advent of the computer.  In Christian circles, advent is supposed to be a time of preparation for the Second Coming while commemorating the First Coming of Christ at Christmas.  Looking back I  just have to wonder exactly what we were looking forward to?    Was it the annual return of  jolly Ole’ Saint Nick with his naughty and nice list or was it the risen Christ with His naughty and nice list?  Observation would tell me that we as a nation were waiting for the return of the one in the red suit with boots, not the One in the tattered robe and dusty sandals. 

And why not?  The guy in the red suit is a lot easier to like.  He gives immediate, tangible gifts to everyone, no matter whether naughty or nice from what I can see.   It is sort of like Wall Street and the government bailout or Obama and his promise of “incentives”, it doesn’t really matter if you behave ethically or not; you still get a gift.  Christ has a gift to offer as well, however His may not seem so immediate or tangible.  His gift was Himself and our salvation.  Tragically, many are lured away by the promise of the emperor’s coin. 

I wonder what the exchange rate is at Heaven’s gate? 

Looking and praying for Advent, RT.

Clark or Cousin Eddie?

It is during this most holy of seasons that I stop and ask myself, “Am a Clark or a cousin Eddie?”  If you don’t know who I am talking about then you have been deprived of the pure pixel pleasure of watching a true Christmas holiday classic.  A movie that depicts all of our own family dynamics taken to an extreme Seinfeld could only envy:  National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.

  Clark appears to have it all: good job, loving wife, two kids, and a nice home.  Contrast that with Eddie who has a loving wife and four children, but no job and lives in a rusted out tenement on wheels.  Oh yeah,  he is still the proud owner of a thriving worm farm however.  I have always pictured myself as a Clark, but this year I realize that I might just be a cousin Eddie.  A man whose heart is bigger than his brain.

At first I was appalled at this revelation, then it dawned on me……which of these characters is more in the spirit of Advent?  Clark, who is uptight whether his annual bonus will cover the $7000 he needs for the pool he is giving his family for Christmas.  Or cousin Eddie, who can’t even afford to buy his own children gifts, but delivers to Clark the perfect gift.  Who gave more of himself?  And whose gift came more from the heart?

Maybe, just maybe, being a cousin Eddie isn’t such a bad thing.

Mele Kalikimaka, RT

God’s Accounting: 101

Last night I was reading Acts 5: 1-11.  You know the story: Ananias (God is gracious) and his wife, Sapphira (beautiful), sold their land, hid some of the money back, gave the rest to the church claiming it was the entire amount and both were struck dead when found out. (RTP)  Now that is what I call an accounting.  Good thing the IRS is in league with Satan and not God.

 

Do you think Ananias’ parents might have wanted to rethink that name again?  Back to the story, I am not so sure whether their sin was not giving the full amount or the fact that the lied to the church (God) and said that they had.  Either way what would your church look like after an audit by God?  Unfortunately, I probably wouldn’t be there to see the results.

 

Verse 11 states that: the news about the conniving couple spread quickly and everyone who heard developed a great fear and respect for God.  The revival that followed this damned duo’s demise was massive and miraculous. (RTP)  No kidding??  There is a lot of dialogue today about trying to live like the 1^st century church, but what would that look like with a 1^st century God?

 

Something to think and pray about, RT               

My Second Window of Opportunity

My second window of opportunity (WOO) presented itself during my middle school career.  I don’t remember the exact grade (I think 9^th), but I do remember the class and the teacher.  It was a Biology class with Mr. Shoemaker at the helm.  We were deep in the middle of the long awaited fetal pig dissection.  I mean this was truly part of the middle school rights of passage; the subject of adolescent legends.  We had been long awaiting this day since grade school and it had finally arrived.  I can still remember the smell of the formaldehyde as the pigs were distributed to the eagerly awaiting groups. 

 

The task at hand was simple: carefully open up our pig, then identify and remove the specified list of organs.  Easy enough.  Things were going great as we removed each organ, labeled it, and tossed any unnecessary parts out the open window next to our lab table.  We thought we had finished until we realized that we had everything we needed except for a spleen.  We frantically referred to our fetal pig dissection manual, but to no avail.  Either our fetal pig was born (well you know what I mean) without a spleen or we had misplaced it.  You can’t imagine our panic we realized our faux pas.

 

The window was about the same size as the one through which I had staged my “great escape” earlier in my academic career, but unfortunately I was substantially larger.  As my lab partners formed a human screen between the open window and Mr. Shoemaker, I contorted my body through the open window.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a fetal pig spleen in the midst of a dormant Bermuda covered school yard?  Well, probably not.  Let’s just say providence was with me that day.  So it was with spleen in hand, I deftly made my way back through the window and was able place the rogue spleen in its rightful place among the other labeled organs.  No harm, no foul.

 

Mr. Shoemaker seemed a little puzzled as to why there was some dried grass clippings on our spleen, but didn’t push the subject.

 

  Like I have said before, WOOs don’t come along everyday, so when they do you had better jump on it or out it.

As always, RT

Things I’ve learned working at Wal-Mart:

 Flatulence is not odoriferous in a walk-in freezer.  I don’t know the exact science behind it, but I assume that it has something to do with the slowing down of the methane molecules.  With that being said, I can only surmise that whoever claimed that his s- – t didn’t stink, was either an Eskimo or was standing in a walk-in freezer.

 

Bluetooth technology has great entertainment value.  If you have never witnessed a Bluetooth One Man Show, you are missing out on some fine entertainment…..  He was large, pushing a cart with one hand, swinging the other hand about violently in the air.  He was talking angrily and loudly as he approached.  “Another satisfied customer”, was my first thought.  However, as he came closer I saw it, the glowing little blue light on his ear.  I don’t know who he was talking to, but I am glad it wasn’t me.  Since that time I have learned to appreciate the performances so many Bluetooth users provide, unwittingly bringing thespian joy to an otherwise tedious venue.   

 

Pork butt isn’t really butt.  Who would have thought it?  In my tenure as an evening meat department associate, I have really come to know my cuts of meat.  Look out Dave!  The cut known as pork butt is actually from the top part of the shoulder.  A little misleading isn’t it?  What’s next; is a split pigs foot really a foot, is cow tongue really a tongue?  Please don’t tell all of those avid tailgaters and BBQ aficionados that what they are grillin/smokin isn’t butt, they get too much mileage out of it.

 

There is an art to frozen turkey bowling.  All you need are ten two-liter bottles of soda (brand name optional) and one 16 pound frozen tom; sounds simple doesn’t it?  Not so.  First of all frozen turkeys don’t roll very well, so it becomes more of a cross between bowling and shuffle board.  Another thing, did you know room temperature two-liter soda bottles when struck by a frozen turkey sliding at 48 mph will explode?  Well, they do if you were wondering. 

 

Pallet-jack racing is not an amateur sport.  Those yellow, hand-pulled pallet-jacks you see in every Wal-Mart are not just for moving heavy pallets of freight.  In skilled hands, they can become high speed scooter of sorts.  Stand on the forks facing the upright handle and move the handle right then left in a rhythmic sweeping motion.  Soon, with a little practice and God given ability, you will be gaining momentum.  Balance comes into play in while cornering and depth perception is critical when trying to maneuver between two pallets placed precariously close together.  Just a note here: helmets, wrist guards, and knee pads are available in the sporting goods department.

 

While this is not an inclusive list of what I’ve learned working at Wal-Mart, it is something to ponder…

 

As always, RT 

 

Who is in your 100?

Watch this video :  http://www.miniature-earth.com/me_english.htm  Is this the 100 you thought it would be?  Is this the 100 you would choose? 

Maybe it is time to look beyond our own consumer crazed, dividend driven society of excess and get a just a glimpse of the real world. 

Questioning as always, RT. 

Window of Opportunity

True windows of opportunity (WOO) don’t come along all that often in our lives and when they do we are sometimes to busy to notice them.  The first WOO that I distinctly remember came in late summer of 1964.  We lived in a quiet little neighborhood cradled in the shadow and the fallout of the local Zinc smelter.  It was early in my academic career and I had just returned from a summer sabbatical after an arduous year of Kindergarten.  I truly saw no point to pursuing an advanced degree such as first grade; after all I had excelled in the Kindergarten curriculum.  However, I caved in to parental and societal pressures and enrolled in the first grade. 

If I am honest, I would have to admit that getting a few new clothes and school supplies was pretty cool…..  First impressions are often misleading as I was soon to find out.  I don’t recall all of the details of that first frightening and fateful day of first grade, but I do remember the feeling of never being more terrified of anyone or anything than the teacher.  Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t that she was hideously deformed; she just had a presence that emitted the pure disdain of children.  I was not and am not psychic, but kids have a discernment towards recognizing which adults care and those who don’t.  This teacher fell into the latter category.   

It was mid-morning, sitting in the back row of the classroom from hell when I realized that I couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t take it anymore.  And that is when my first WOO presented itself.  It came metaphorically and literally in the form of an open window at the back of the room.  You know the type; about three feet long, open outward, from the bottom.  I visualized myself cautiously sliding out of my desk, edging towards the window and then making a half dive, half roll to freedom.  I played this scenario over and over in my mind several times before the instant for action came. 

The initial phase of my plan went surprising well, considering it was devised and carried out by a six year old.  I found myself lying on the sidewalk outside of the classroom.  I jumped to my feet and started a spirited sprint across the asphalt playground celebrating my freedom.  Somewhere just past the tetherball poles I heard heavy footsteps and an angry voice shouting behind me.  Terror shot through body, just like the electricity had when I inserted two nails into an electrical outlet in an ill-fated attempt to make an electromagnet. Slowly, I put a face to the voice.  It was her.  The footsteps and the voice kept getting closer and closer.  As my legs became heavier and heavier, all hopes of freedom slowly dissolved.   

The events that followed are hazy at best, filtered through the lense of time and trauma.  I remember being lead by the collar back to the building kicking and screaming.  The teacher, in her infinite wisdom and with righteous indignation I might add, swiftly and zealously dealt out my consequence; SWATS!  How many?   I don’t remember.  I do remember seeing the principal approaching and my childish hopes that he would intervene on my behalf.  After all, every school aged child knows that the principal is our “pal”.  I guess that analogy was not in the curriculum wherever and whenever this principal was in grade school.  He joined in the swat-fest as I refused to go willingly back to the classroom. 

So, there I was sitting in, no hovering above my seat at the back of the classroom humiliated, but not defeated.  I had however gleaned a priceless pearl of wisdom: never underestimate the foot-speed of a sixty-something woman given the proper motivation.   

If I couldn’t escape the confines of first grade and the swat-happy duo once I was in the building, it only seemed logical to not darken that threshold again.   It was time to implement plan B.  Its simplicity was its brilliance.  The next morning I would leave the house and join up with the other neighborhood kids walking to school as normal.  However, just before we reached the school I would drop to the back of our caravan, make a u-turn and return home.  There I would hide in the safe harbor of the large privet hedge in our front yard and wait until I saw my neighbors returning after school.   What could go wrong? 

My mother to this day hasn’t given up the the stool pigeon who ratted me out, but I have always suspected it was that nosey lady, Ms. Parker.  Needless to say, it was quite awhile before I was allowed to walk to school without direct adult supervision.  Someday I will tell you about my second window of opportunity. 

‘til then, RT