tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79515508298610939192024-03-13T16:21:02.944-04:00Joffre The GiantExcursions in Christian VirilityJoffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.comBlogger2223125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-10687080251646745722018-12-19T07:56:00.000-05:002018-12-19T07:56:56.856-05:00Be Fire Next Time: A Memory<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PX3DKukEmLo5cYJl0WijvUoVApBY5QXz7xLV2M6qs-S87VjfwzrT6lElwfIlLk2OIlmJ-r4U8_By9D34CSxxlkXgcWMDpugK5ZhJulGo-WQbGCu3Wsy_tIUZXfv8EtYduXOfojVIIbM/s1600/On_Beach_Opening_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PX3DKukEmLo5cYJl0WijvUoVApBY5QXz7xLV2M6qs-S87VjfwzrT6lElwfIlLk2OIlmJ-r4U8_By9D34CSxxlkXgcWMDpugK5ZhJulGo-WQbGCu3Wsy_tIUZXfv8EtYduXOfojVIIbM/s1600/On_Beach_Opening_0.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-e484cb8c-7fff-a0c7-5263-bcaca8e25897" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-e484cb8c-7fff-a0c7-5263-bcaca8e25897" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I grew up casually but firmly believing that the world would end in fire, one way or the other. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The one way was nuclear war, and the other was divine judgment. Although I could and did imagine possible distant futures, I knew they were unlikely. If the bombs didn't get us, Jesus would. Both scenarios made sense and seemed right to me, but of course, I hoped it would be Jesus who got us.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was born in 1978 in Brasilia, and spent my childhood in Brazil. Mine was the last generation of children to know that catastrophic nuclear war could be just around the corner. I don't know what it was like for kids in the States, but there was nothing in the structure of our lives that made concession to this reality. There were no fifties-style classroom desk drills, no bomb shelters. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was very impressed when, while visiting with relatives on Long Island at twelve years old, my uncle told me that the high poles lining the beach were air raid sirens. The Berlin Wall fell the following year.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nuclear bombs were the infinity plus one of our arguments when playing war in the neighborhood. They probably still are. I shot you. I'm not dead, I have special armor. Tank. Bunker. B-52. Nuclear bomb, I win. No, spaceship with lasers. Spaceship can't escape nuclear bomb, you lose!</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There was more than one “what if” conversation had in the several neighborhoods I lived in. What if there were a nuclear war? My dad said, my teacher said, we'd all be dead, no we wouldn't.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We moved every year of my childhood until I was sixteen, when we lived in Arlington, Massachusetts for two solid years. When I realized we'd reached this milestone I bound up the stairs of our Philadelphia-style house announcing that it was high time we moved. Although we would have moved regardless of my opinion, I still wonder that I did that. I had it so good in that town. Perhaps I was giving my parents my blessing. I think I had told myself it was a better way to live.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a child I read. My mother kept me as well supplied as she could. There was no real public library system in Brazil, and there was certainly no internet then. I read my mother's books over and over again. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Asimov. Again and again. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At age nine or ten I read </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On The Beach</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, Nevil Shute's novel about an American submarine crew hanging out in Australia until post-war nuclear fallout enveloped the entire world and mankind went extinct. It was explained to me that that would never happen in a real nuclear war; at some point the fallout would dissipate, and total extinction was improbable. I don't recall if I asked or if the information was volunteered.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I loved that book. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was fifteen, by that time living in Massachusetts and working at a used bookshop, I came across an earlier Shute novel. I enjoyed it, but was disappointed that it was a small romance story. Sure, it was set against the backdrop of the Battle of Britain, but that was small potatoes compared to complete annihilation. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I've not read </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">On the Beach</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> since I was a kid. I have no idea if it was saying anything important, but it certainly seemed to me then that it was. I mean, how can you beat an extinction event for provoking an existential crisis and bringing about meaningful self-examination?</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I examined myself daily. My special concern for a while was to not commit the unforgivable sin, but I got over that soon enough. I was always careful, whenever I thought about the end of the world, to ask God for forgiveness for whatever sins I'd committed since the last time. And I thought about the apocalypse several times a day, every day. The imminent end was my reality. There were signs of the times. Earthquakes. Wars. Rumors of wars! </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I should clarify. I wasn't usually thinking about the end of the world, I was thinking about Jesus’ return. The fiery consummation of the world would be one of the results of that return.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My mindset was not depressive or bleak. I knew that if Jesus came back while I was sinning or not up to date on my prayers, I'd still be saved. I had no doubt of that. I'd worked through that when I'd worked through my fear of the Devil sneaking up on me and making me curse God in my mind. (The unforgivable sin is cursing the Holy Spirit, and over the years I've spoken to many who feared the same satanic ambush in the dark that I did.) I wasn't worried about being saved. I just wanted to minimize my embarrassment when I went to be with Jesus. I couldn't help but constantly dash off these prayers so I wouldn't have to tell him what I was sorry for face to face. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For a similar reason I always dressed quickly. I didn't want to get caught up into the air with only one shoe on, or worse, naked. To this day the thought comes unbidden to me as I slip on my briefs or tie my shoes: </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Okay, Jesus can come back now. I'm ready. </span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don't even believe in the Rapture anymore (it's unbiblical, y'all, try the Day of Resurrection on for size), but I feel progressively better with each item of clothing I put on in the morning, imagining myself caught up in the sky with other people in varied states of undress.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As a kid I hadn't gotten the memo that when we all got sucked up into the air we'd be going naked.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Nineteen eighty-eight was a big year. It was my first full year as a confessed Christian, and my father's second. My mother had been praying for my father’s salvation since she'd converted at a Bible study for Americans in Brasilia shortly before my birth. Nineteen eighty-eight was also the fortieth anniversary of the founding of the state of Israel. Forty years is a biblically portentous time period. Jesus likes to be portentous. Bet you he comes back around now, it was said.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We reminded ourselves that no one knew the hour, but we knew that Jesus could come back tomorrow, and that there were a lot of tomorrows in a year. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Layer, when I went to college in Florida, I became friends with a guy whose church had split up over </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">88 Reasons Why The Rapture Will Be In 1988</span><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Houses had been sold, good-byes been told, arrangements for pets had been made, faucets been left dripping for those same pets.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We were wiser than that. I knew that any date that I saw predicted on a lamppost flyer or heard prophesied from a pulpit I could safely eliminate as a possible ETA for Jesus the Lord, because he would come like a thief in the night, but any other day was a possibility. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And the thing was, once Jesus came back, this was all going to burn. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was comfortable with the thought that billions might die in atom-splitting fire and poison. I resigned myself to the fact that billions would die eternally. Although I did some things to bring those close to me onto my Jesus ark, I spent my teenage years having written the world off.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My first year as a teen a huge fire burned our house down along with thousands more.</span></span></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-66628243751830400272018-04-03T21:45:00.001-04:002018-04-03T21:57:13.816-04:00Courtship Morons & The Poor Little HomeschoolersThey're not who you think they are. The morons, I mean.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/byUq5ckRXyc" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="http://www.thomasumstattd.com/2014/08/courtship-fundamentally-flawed/" target="_blank">Here's a link</a> to the post referred to in the video.</div>
</div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-17554723804611354362018-03-15T12:02:00.001-04:002018-03-15T12:02:44.679-04:00Google Threatened Half The World's PopulationHere I am, writing on Google-owned Blogger, posting a video to this post that is hosted on Google-owned YouTube, all accessed through Chrome, into which I am signed in with two Google accounts. My phone is an Android. When I buy new electronics I expect them to magically sync through the power of Google. I am up in Google and, more importantly, Google is up in me.<br />
<br />
And Google is threatening me and my ilk. Or at least telling us we'd better get used to a new world order. Get used to it, they say. Time's up, they say.<br />
<br />
Time's up on what, you might ask. Time's up on me using my privilege to take advantage of women. Time's up on me making the world in my own image. Time's up on the male world.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcC7jEhyon9ov8T5UDMBfJq728DScBtvMIrojctDqE-TjCWb6N7pFSi70T4jRJcOiJ5u1WIS6oaIp7ORqHHG-Ta2cTkG0o3x6DXf7ElKTS9JZx7T95wW4u6hZRFJnFY3HdbffksbCG0c/s1600/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="234" data-original-width="500" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcC7jEhyon9ov8T5UDMBfJq728DScBtvMIrojctDqE-TjCWb6N7pFSi70T4jRJcOiJ5u1WIS6oaIp7ORqHHG-Ta2cTkG0o3x6DXf7ElKTS9JZx7T95wW4u6hZRFJnFY3HdbffksbCG0c/s320/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
No, I'm being serious. <i>Penis non grata est. </i>The world is about to have new overlords. They will be just and fair, and only a little bit vengeful.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zkLbvAMs77M" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-61147358895818536792018-02-23T20:07:00.000-05:002018-02-24T17:29:53.150-05:00Alternative To The Benedict Option: The Parson Thirdly OptionRod Dreher's <i>The Benedict Option</i> came out quite some time ago now, and made quite a splash in its time. Although it does seem to already be fading into a relic of the teens ("Remember that book 'The Benedictine Choice'?").<br />
<br />
Here I am now, untimely got, untimely born, but finally inspired to say something to someone about this.<br />
<br />
My goal is modest, much like my proposal. I propose, instead of the Benedict Option, The Parson Thirdly Option. Where Mr. Dreher might have suggested that we Christians ghettoize ourselves, I suggest that we simply smoke more pipes and drink more beer.
There is indeed danger in engaging in a losing battle. So to a degree I sympathize with Mr Dreher's desire to retreat (some will write to say I oversimplify). On the other extreme, there are those whose only Christian ambition is to have conversations with pagans, no matter the cost. That silliness is to be avoided.<br />
<br />
The Parson Thirdly Option calls for living a simple life with people around. The name is taken from a poem, the philosophy from I Thessalonians 4. For further elucidation, please watch the video below.
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/9hjLMxQ9d0M" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-22965880975856648372018-02-23T10:56:00.000-05:002018-02-23T10:56:05.001-05:00The Saddest Thing About The Woman Who Confused A Norwegian Flag For A ConfederateRebecca Morris, a bestselling true crime author was made to experience that most sinister of successions: catching sight of a Confederate flag. She was startled. She was miffed. She got all in a huff. She might have been slightly outraged. She did what any normal person would have done...which is to write an email to the local paper. The <a href="https://www.seattletimes.com/seattle-news/both-have-crosses-so-norwegian-flag-mistaken-for-confederate-flag/" target="_blank">Seattle Times went out to look</a> at this wondrous sight <i>(o mirabile visu!)</i> and realized that it was a Norwegian flag, put up by a Norwegian nisei in commemoration of the Winter Olympics.<br />
<br />
A situation both sad and hilarious, I'm sure you'll agree. But mostly sad. Recall that I said this was a sinister event. The sinistrosity comes not, however, from our flag-flyer, but from Ms Morris. There was one thing she might have done to prevent her embarrassment, and promote the peace of the city, but as she herself wrote, <b>OF COURSE</b> she wasn't willing to do it. What civilized person would?<br />
<br />
In the following video I engagingly explain why people like Rebecca Morris are frightening. You should watch.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xiG6wojkZbQ?start=187" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-55364507420887047942018-02-07T15:58:00.000-05:002018-02-07T15:58:08.103-05:00Happiness Is Not Even A Real Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNSJx-Kpv0AfOT04YUSYoBxkAhHQxhqZ-f7-CC8Ic_gXEp_Uk6R00eDh1XBLgDPC3HPF-tWRS5Bi9HCS5Ngcc1Alg4946nrnIofuMn1JzP6DhwYPYeOZ-XEqWFFoUCSQzo5YxKXxOS9c/s1600/happiness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNSJx-Kpv0AfOT04YUSYoBxkAhHQxhqZ-f7-CC8Ic_gXEp_Uk6R00eDh1XBLgDPC3HPF-tWRS5Bi9HCS5Ngcc1Alg4946nrnIofuMn1JzP6DhwYPYeOZ-XEqWFFoUCSQzo5YxKXxOS9c/s640/happiness.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Happiness, my friends and brothers in Christ, is not real. And as far as it is real, if I may be allowed to equivocate in this very first paragraph, it is purely aleatory. I love the word aleatory, by the way, as it is such a by the way word. <i>Alea</i> was a kind of dice game in Rome; remember when Julius stentoterized his <i>alea jacta est</i>? If you read Asterix as a kid you do. Aleatory is a fancy word for random. It is a roll of the dice. And happiness, if it be real, is a word of omens, astrology, and happenstance. Happiness is aleatory.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3BVCd5AvhjtP1PVtXf6qrl9pM8OGMgFxR_u-4Muw8qE9I6FOtrOD3T25k5L5on29besYZ3iAI9F4IG6NO_9DXYhTsjKUXqIy7YhaNlJrgWckAmoEEjBiy7f00Wr7Sl7cSfZpa81cHgg/s1600/96d9f6484f3152ad8ea3730336dd01bb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT3BVCd5AvhjtP1PVtXf6qrl9pM8OGMgFxR_u-4Muw8qE9I6FOtrOD3T25k5L5on29besYZ3iAI9F4IG6NO_9DXYhTsjKUXqIy7YhaNlJrgWckAmoEEjBiy7f00Wr7Sl7cSfZpa81cHgg/s320/96d9f6484f3152ad8ea3730336dd01bb.jpg" width="218" /></a>Ah, happenstance. A word that looks like circumstance and happen collided and happen won. And that, friends, is what happy means. Happiness is what happens. Happiness is when happenings are favorable in your perception. Happiness is hazard working out. Happiness is haphazard.<br />
<br />
In many Spanish-speaking countries a way to congratulate someone is to say <i><a href="https://www.fundeu.es/consulta/en-hora-buena-o-enhorabuena-748/" target="_blank">enhorabuena</a></i>. It's written out as one word when it's a felicitation, but it's a combination of three words, <i>in good hour/time</i>. You hear good news and you say, "in a good hour this news has come to me".<br />
<br />
It's an ancient phrase. <i>El Cid Campeador</i>, the Spanish national hero immortalized in thousand-year-old epic poem and Charlton Heston movie, is the one who <i>enbuenahora </i>was born, and who <i>enbuenahora </i>cinched his sword to his waist. At one point in El Cid's epic tale, in between battles, "<a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=XvZBAAAAIAAJ&pg=RA1-PA300&lpg=RA1-PA300&dq=el+cid+enhorabuena&source=bl&ots=xocEXJQkfI&sig=GQsBoR9hLAO8LZ6LNokHs9UK4YY&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiQsMSC0JTZAhUBpFkKHQdvC40Q6AEIYDAN#v=onepage&q=el%20cid%20enhorabuena&f=false" target="_blank">all the castilians were <i>enhorabuena</i>, and all gave themselves to rejoicing</a>".<br />
<br />
In this case the capriciousness of happiness is not eventual, but temporal. These, sirs, are good times, but tomorrow they may not be.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqZtaKHP0qy55N_FVPk8vEpsDzQRYl6YgZxtyDaV2Q5piy9GWs6ufQDE_Iox2ZdA_FAo6Oe0-s5T1nd88pndHYU-dIcgXgpIOVz8CsN5RLF2UdCUS_-z5q-kQsGDA2JVD4mVXqTnc8DY/s1600/3092895-0827036802-Felix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="359" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCqZtaKHP0qy55N_FVPk8vEpsDzQRYl6YgZxtyDaV2Q5piy9GWs6ufQDE_Iox2ZdA_FAo6Oe0-s5T1nd88pndHYU-dIcgXgpIOVz8CsN5RLF2UdCUS_-z5q-kQsGDA2JVD4mVXqTnc8DY/s320/3092895-0827036802-Felix.jpg" width="287" /></a>And let us not even speak of felicity, or felicitations, or <i>felicidad </i>or <i>felicità</i>. Felix is just a cat and we know how reliable they are. <i>Felix, fecund, </i>and <i>fetus</i> all have the same root, suggesting fruitfulness, and what's more, <i>fellare</i> is to suck. <i>Felix </i>is Latin for "happy", sure, but also for "lucky", because one is sucking from Fortuna's teat. To be happy is to be lucky in Latin. Same word.<br />
<br />
Let us return then to <i>en hora buena</i>. <i>Bonheur </i>is French for happiness, as is <i>heureux </i>for happy. You'd think the Spanish and the French were connected. Apparently many Frenchmen do too. But no. In French to be happy is not to experience a good happening, nor to be experiencing a good time. No, happiness is to be experiencing a good <i>augur</i>, a good augury. The sacrifice's guts have been read, and they are favorable to you. You are under a good star, under a good gut.<br />
<br />
Why all this etymological play, dear reader? Well, mostly because its fun. I like this stuff. But also to tell you that not only in English, but as universally as I can tell you (I wish I could go broader than western Europe, but I cannot), happiness is circumstantial. All these words are about what's happened to us.<br />
<br />
When we ask ourselves that deadly question, "Am I happy?", we are not asking about happiness, we're asking about something more profound. But we have difficulty answering our question to ourselves, both superficially and profoundly, because we've asked the wrong question.<br />
<br />
Let me answer the question for you. Are you happy? If you have work, a stable marriage, healthy children, and food on the table, you are happy. By definition. Happiness has happened to you. You have the good circumstances.<br />
<br />
What you're asking about is something else, maybe somethings else. You are asking about joy. You are asking about contentment. You are asking about things deeper than your circumstances. So much deeper in fact, that you can not be happy (no job, angry wife, not enough food) and still have contentment and joy.<br />
<br />
Contentment and joy, by the way, are two very different things. One is satisfied, the other is seeking; one is earthy, the other is otherworldly. But the important thing is that both are independent of circumstance. If you find yourself in good circumstances but "unhappy", you shouldn't be asking why you're not happy. Ask yourself where your joy is.<br />
<br />
C. S. Lewis on joy:<br />
<br />
"As I stood beside a flowering currant bush on a summer day there suddenly arose in me without warning, and as if from a depth not of years but of centuries, the memory of that earlier morning at the Old House when my brother had brought his toy garden into the nursery. It is difficult or find words strong enough for the sensation which came over me; Milton's 'enormous bliss' of Eden (giving the full, ancient meaning to 'enormous') comes somewhere near it. It was a sensation, of course, of desire; but desire for what?...Before I knew what I desired, the desire itself was gone, the whole glimpse... withdrawn, the world turned commonplace again, or only stirred by a longing for the longing that had just ceased... In a sense the central story of my life is about nothing else... The quality common to the three experiences... is that of an unsatisfied desire which is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction. I call it Joy, which is here a technical term and must be sharply distinguished both from Happiness and Pleasure. Joy (in my sense) has indeed one characteristic, and one only, in common with them; the fact that anyone who has experienced it will want it again... I doubt whether anyone who has tasted it would ever, if both were in his power, exchange it for all the pleasures in the world. But then Joy is never in our power and Pleasure often is."<br />
<br />
Joy is a quest, a walk, a journey. If you lack it, you must embark on a quest. You must follow Jesus on his mission; you must serve the Kingdom of God. You need a reason to live; this is that reason, the best of reasons. It does not depend on events, or the times, or the auguries. Whether they be bad or good, you have Jesus and the things he's given you to do. You have joy, and perhaps even contentment.Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-57115830925417254422018-02-05T18:28:00.000-05:002018-02-05T18:29:17.317-05:00But...That's A Grown-Ass Man!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtmt3hMobTrlTyJCSD0acW1fr31v9DCjrHK49u85LxP2XCIgKTXxd89HFYLkeyInsWCOfBvm6RUYMWVkq_UblnohAhrto_ryxzipsXEggQ9ceIDmIVfdl1X9U2Fh4BYI42vZtRBQ6yps/s1600/grownassmanwords.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1435" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtmt3hMobTrlTyJCSD0acW1fr31v9DCjrHK49u85LxP2XCIgKTXxd89HFYLkeyInsWCOfBvm6RUYMWVkq_UblnohAhrto_ryxzipsXEggQ9ceIDmIVfdl1X9U2Fh4BYI42vZtRBQ6yps/s640/grownassmanwords.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
What you see picture above is, by all appearances, a grown-ass man. Not a grown ass-man, as far as we know, but definitely full grown. The entire man has grown. (I hope you all have seen <a href="https://www.facebook.com/teamcoco/videos/1733894753336066/" target="_blank">the clip of that Finnish comedian</a> on Conan.) He has the sort of beard one needs a trimmer to maintain, because it's nice and full. And he has adorable little laugh lines around his eyes. In the picture above and in the video below the actor plays a man with a nice house/apartment and a really nice kitchen who somehow, inexplicably, isn't able to cook even a simple pasta dish.<br />
<br />
What his mommy doesn't know, even though "that boy's never cooked <i>anything</i> before", is that he uses Bertolli frozen products. Watch the 15-second spot below. It aired during the Super Bowl.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/USchwoeGanw" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The ad is not targeted at worried mothers, of course, but at young men worried about looking ridiculous without their mothers. And you always target your ads up. If you want to sell stuff to pre-teens, portray high schoolers using your products. So I guess they might have picked a guy who's at least in his mid-twenties to woo seventeen-year-olds, who might not actually know how to cook pasta.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Still...what we've got here is a manifestation of that pernicious meme (in the old fashioned pre-internet sense) that portrays men as incompetent. This bungling, infantilized, ill-equipped young fool needs only to survive from leaving his mommy to finding a wifey. Bertolli can help him bridge that awkward gap of independence.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
After that the young man can return to the incompetency expected of him. My video take on the commercial I post below, including what I think some normal expectations ought to be, not just for cooking, but, you know...like, for life.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/69G5o7eHMtQ" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-10099040123768954292017-12-27T21:12:00.002-05:002017-12-27T21:12:48.760-05:003rd Day of Christmas: 3 French Nuns!Today is the third day of Christmas, upon which I reveal to the world the amazing gift I received from Giant friend Jacob. To start, there was a ten-year-old tin of Bow Legged Bear, and it got more amazing from there.<br />
<br />
Let's just say that fans of C. S. Lewis will be excited about my new tobacco.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" gesture="media" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NSXk66SHolU" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-44367886931942979972017-12-20T16:16:00.002-05:002017-12-20T16:30:19.176-05:00Advent: How Do We Respond To Christ's Coming?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xIG0SFczruZREuBfv4Fg7ybCJFNM_05BoN0HWmkm6xVMQwpFPyWi_67cUNNlaOcXvOQsQZfiPIBqFFYFHg2cpr2o2EYvdRWFwdcMVPX5zcXOIa1M9KGV0K_N1y7xAcwvXXS1H1BXJW0/s1600/6_06VICTORIANS-overlay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="1271" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9xIG0SFczruZREuBfv4Fg7ybCJFNM_05BoN0HWmkm6xVMQwpFPyWi_67cUNNlaOcXvOQsQZfiPIBqFFYFHg2cpr2o2EYvdRWFwdcMVPX5zcXOIa1M9KGV0K_N1y7xAcwvXXS1H1BXJW0/s640/6_06VICTORIANS-overlay.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Advent is the season in which we celebrate waiting for Jesus's coming. The season is therefore significant to our entire entire lives: the life of a Christian is a life of active and striven waiting. Christ came, and Christ comes. Christ came, and is come. Christ came, and will come again.<br />
<br />
All the Advent Scriptures we read hinge on waiting. What do we wait for when we wait on the Lord? Deliverance. Salvation. Deliverance from death. Salvation from death.<br />
<br />
We are waiting on life. Life in the face of death, life through death.<br />
<br />
The Christ came, as promised, and brought the good news that there is life, and life everlasting. He was born, lived a life, died, and lived again. The good news is that he came as the firstfruits of true life. He comes as the deliverer of this life.<br />
<br />
How do we respond to his coming, if we believe? Well, there's an initial answer. He comes, we believe. But after that? Jesus came, and he had a message: "Come." (John 5, 6) How do we respond to that?<br />
<br />
The last chapter of Scripture illuminates this for us.<br />
<br />
In Revelation 22:16 Jesus speaks, saying that his message has been for the Church, and describing himself in the sort of Messianic language that is in our Advent readings: "I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star." He is the inauguration of a new age, a new kingdom, the fulfillment of promises. He came to install and proclaim his Kingdom, saying "Come."<br />
<br />
The response in the next verse is from the Spirit, and from the Church, and finally, from any one who desires to respond.<br />
<br />
"The Spirit and the Bride say, 'Come.' And let the one who hears say, 'Come.' And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price."<br />
<br />
The spirit of Advent and Christmas is an evangelistic one. Christ came, saying "Come". The Spirit of God and the Bride respond, saying "Come". You, the hearer, respond, not only by believing, but by saying to others, "Come".<br />
<br />
Advent is the time of calling. Christmas is the time of calling. We are come to say "Come". Come one, come all.<br />
<br />
Good tidings we bring, for you and your kin. We came here to tell you about him. Now you come out here. Come meet us, and bring figgy pudding and beer. Come fellowship with us. And we won't go until we got some.Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-33365997142076382092017-12-09T11:24:00.003-05:002017-12-09T11:24:59.455-05:00Corn Cob Pipes: When & Where?<div style="text-align: left;">
What do you associate corn cob pipes with? When, where, and how do you most enjoy them? I've got my opinions, you've got yours. Be sure to check out the comments on YouTube, which are hopping. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" gesture="media" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/850n3TMAPn4" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-20512051525303817432017-11-29T14:56:00.001-05:002017-11-29T14:56:15.314-05:00The Best Glitter Beard Memes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42Yg7tLLdmdYqFZEBcmL4NnI9RIxu2K1dcoR-RSChlQ7shKw9A1UuwuYu20t4qCmtd4GU0_qof15GxYIeROa9131LFA7aU5gti4O_yGe6j6Nkca8Ak6LDZWnDpHojxxQN5rpiFQ1KFFY/s1600/24294097_10155385607742968_2205450525604973929_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="718" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi42Yg7tLLdmdYqFZEBcmL4NnI9RIxu2K1dcoR-RSChlQ7shKw9A1UuwuYu20t4qCmtd4GU0_qof15GxYIeROa9131LFA7aU5gti4O_yGe6j6Nkca8Ak6LDZWnDpHojxxQN5rpiFQ1KFFY/s320/24294097_10155385607742968_2205450525604973929_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I get all the beard things posted on my FB wall.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj156vXnA_ewyZw9OMZNYtLfVdcc9QuyVC2NcjaozOP1YvqhMPLchmXM-Cs9btaMBsk554QS5BaEWql-gk67BLM8MxiE9lWt2WvIOUKXi-_3WvlldD4yEadv_iwS0yB8d_oZceTa71dKU4/s1600/Glitter-Beard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj156vXnA_ewyZw9OMZNYtLfVdcc9QuyVC2NcjaozOP1YvqhMPLchmXM-Cs9btaMBsk554QS5BaEWql-gk67BLM8MxiE9lWt2WvIOUKXi-_3WvlldD4yEadv_iwS0yB8d_oZceTa71dKU4/s320/Glitter-Beard.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Say no more.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-5LvkPDCDso5CSHxcqTkYVxbCIQ8HJhjlOB7Kemru2SmZQiEaBj86dhz25DqNOQZvE9GHwDJLfzlgWGSmUNJ72xcfBcDT-m3f0N9JX_B6EJjNok1aTUkEa4iK4xJPphkbzDQt7wqUsk/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="251" data-original-width="201" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT-5LvkPDCDso5CSHxcqTkYVxbCIQ8HJhjlOB7Kemru2SmZQiEaBj86dhz25DqNOQZvE9GHwDJLfzlgWGSmUNJ72xcfBcDT-m3f0N9JX_B6EJjNok1aTUkEa4iK4xJPphkbzDQt7wqUsk/s400/images+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Classic.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1CaIvDbXb_ugyvRiF45_ba0s8p33L4x3QH_uyBvLXelU0Q5Te6lbcObGHEBEE2y35CfKWM-4HkQCtZDwEXQoR-2kkgEckFaVl_qfSqGybf6_NItoU5Y1ZHrPA36IPZp_IcmaB_btLN8/s1600/miX6Myl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1205" data-original-width="1600" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC1CaIvDbXb_ugyvRiF45_ba0s8p33L4x3QH_uyBvLXelU0Q5Te6lbcObGHEBEE2y35CfKWM-4HkQCtZDwEXQoR-2kkgEckFaVl_qfSqGybf6_NItoU5Y1ZHrPA36IPZp_IcmaB_btLN8/s320/miX6Myl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Glitter beards were happening last year too, y'all.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuYQUnyK9IQL-44J9KJPC2w_WF5VvaV1NTJshWeO4i_mNJaHjA9utDMHkmN3AuVlApL_K7mrwTDJP5Fr8y0miojR9qKSSC8rY44F-I1_UEjryxMzr2h5UjcSYGXU6W3L9QtrgJc16bGg/s1600/qpsi1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuYQUnyK9IQL-44J9KJPC2w_WF5VvaV1NTJshWeO4i_mNJaHjA9utDMHkmN3AuVlApL_K7mrwTDJP5Fr8y0miojR9qKSSC8rY44F-I1_UEjryxMzr2h5UjcSYGXU6W3L9QtrgJc16bGg/s320/qpsi1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Just bury your face in some Dunkin'.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMmBLi6QsxnPiCbNJhsS5a6GSSnls1qxmkFCIYoGmG-gjZiC9I8EArc4Dk2N0KVDvnKeMRIasZSBhtsmN41P_xYOk7tB26c5NahmKCdopOb_dmKWomTZSK2K09sSOlojG66wXFgazQC0/s1600/you-said-your-beard-made-you-manly-the-glitter-in-it-determined-it-was-a-lie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="500" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVMmBLi6QsxnPiCbNJhsS5a6GSSnls1qxmkFCIYoGmG-gjZiC9I8EArc4Dk2N0KVDvnKeMRIasZSBhtsmN41P_xYOk7tB26c5NahmKCdopOb_dmKWomTZSK2K09sSOlojG66wXFgazQC0/s320/you-said-your-beard-made-you-manly-the-glitter-in-it-determined-it-was-a-lie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-42103233393268889022017-11-29T14:28:00.003-05:002017-11-29T14:28:46.824-05:00Snus Review: Mustang Los<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oIQrCjDhTdw" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-7082557372460049602017-11-29T14:27:00.003-05:002017-11-29T14:27:49.011-05:00Pipe Tobacco Review: C & D Bourbon Bleu<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tGHM2c_SRas" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-52834794830515384002017-11-23T10:38:00.001-05:002017-11-23T10:38:40.514-05:00Pig, Bird, Salt<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXQqaFC7L_5n7oPLlVfHnutYHWPWwsDCO8bJyRFEjF7QJr8zc_dkfHKsUXmTeYBfr3adJv5x6qIitw2iKAmJg9y_d7HPpbCSXmBDl4anKuPTFP6zhhil6SMDhwd0DlzrPH2LsAZwultQ/s1600/trukey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXQqaFC7L_5n7oPLlVfHnutYHWPWwsDCO8bJyRFEjF7QJr8zc_dkfHKsUXmTeYBfr3adJv5x6qIitw2iKAmJg9y_d7HPpbCSXmBDl4anKuPTFP6zhhil6SMDhwd0DlzrPH2LsAZwultQ/s640/trukey.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><br /></b>
<b>Pig, Bird, Salt</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
The ham we cure with brine,<br />
And then soak out the cure.<br />
The bird in salt divine<br />
We drown and then immure.<br />
<br />
Festal foods we must exalt<br />
Through the liberal application of salt.Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-71377193798511923022017-11-09T13:13:00.001-05:002017-11-09T13:13:15.873-05:00Cigar Review: RoMa Craft Neanderthal<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qsTDw6IpjQM" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-10093129734868085522017-11-01T20:05:00.003-04:002017-11-01T20:05:50.327-04:00Poem: Made In The Image<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieltpwlmCa_eQxAgJwotlJZ_7nZVfUilt2k7fz8ygZap0vBpDU9_-GUUKsMPyTC0NKXXoI4HJa1cowF9uvztk3O3q7v769NqHr447rs1LfJKYl-ktyqqPV3VC5TrO3C_2JKPOvEEjFdU/s1600/a92835d8b92d291700993ec1b311fb48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1600" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgieltpwlmCa_eQxAgJwotlJZ_7nZVfUilt2k7fz8ygZap0vBpDU9_-GUUKsMPyTC0NKXXoI4HJa1cowF9uvztk3O3q7v769NqHr447rs1LfJKYl-ktyqqPV3VC5TrO3C_2JKPOvEEjFdU/s640/a92835d8b92d291700993ec1b311fb48.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Made In The Image</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
To wield a world, to work a deed,<br />
To speak it soft or stern, at need,<br />
Whether with much chanting, or cheering with delight,<br />
Or thundering strength forth from the height,<br />
This is to gods only given, and getting should be dear.<br />
But the Lord of love, who allows no peer,<br />
Has untwisted our tongues and tooled us new<br />
To wield our words and whole worlds hew.Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-48783412597118251262017-10-31T20:03:00.002-04:002017-10-31T20:03:25.802-04:00Does This Pipe Tobacco Actually Taste Like Bacon?<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XWqe2v8p428" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-42482594357369148052017-10-28T17:18:00.003-04:002017-10-28T17:22:41.352-04:00Father & Son Book Review: Strays by Remy Wilkins<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl2ilDHZGJhjFjZK_xc-vaiGScy4otqJbsPNwDPgXMSuuzqcxU_jcBN8FoRlxH4Mc6OHkmIYR6D8oehXdhIVDBTzBsCuN33tFmFaNrMMqEanbbMGsmFeLz2FMg4MGXY_9Yu1klEkFKAw/s1600/918GywUTuTL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1036" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl2ilDHZGJhjFjZK_xc-vaiGScy4otqJbsPNwDPgXMSuuzqcxU_jcBN8FoRlxH4Mc6OHkmIYR6D8oehXdhIVDBTzBsCuN33tFmFaNrMMqEanbbMGsmFeLz2FMg4MGXY_9Yu1klEkFKAw/s400/918GywUTuTL.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
<i><a href="http://canonpress.com/strays/" target="_blank">Strays</a> </i>is the story of how The Boy With The Honey-Glazed Baseball Bat closed a door and learned to love.<br />
<br />
The book arrived at our house on Thursday, and is making its way down the line. My oldest son read it Thursday, I read it Friday, and now boy number two is on it. I believe the wife is next, followed by oldest daughter, and last the runtiest son. The four-year-old daughter is trying to convince us that it wouldn't be too scary for her.<br />
<br />
I would say that <i>Strays </i>is geared to boys 9-12, but I think pretty much anyone who can read would enjoy it. It's a fast-paced adventure story that starts off with an appropriate amount of mystery and deliberate pacing, but once things start to happen, <i>things start to happen</i>. There are traitors, and saints, and traitor saints. There are angels and demons and rabbits and chickens. The Lord of the Bees makes an appearance, as does Leviathan. One of the characters knows where Jupiter is.<br />
<br />
At no point did I consider putting the book down. I had one of the boys fetch me my second glass of wine.<br />
<br />
My son and I loved this book, as mentioned before. We did a video review/discussion of it. We hope you enjoy it. If you decide to pick up the book you can do so <a href="http://canonpress.com/strays/" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
(Please find below the embedded video an excursus on baseball.)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ml1tp3kxPvQ" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Pretty much my only problem with the book is that it continues the strange engagement of Christian writers with baseball. Baseball is kind of dumb, guys. I don't mean it's easy; golf is difficult and it's dumb too. Of the major American sports, baseball ranks penultimate in holiness, just after hockey but before soccer. The disregard Christian writers have for the sanctifying power of basketball is disheartening. But I hear Peter Leithart has a major work on the topic coming out, and as he's a devotee of roundball, I hope this tendency will begin to change.</div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: start;">
But that is by the way. In <i>Strays </i>the presence of baseball is limited to a honey-glazed bat and a weird uncle who occasionally threatens to play catch.</div>
</div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-91259093229691980432017-10-27T01:00:00.003-04:002017-10-27T01:00:46.828-04:00Oral Coffee Pouches Are A Thing NowSo coffee pouches are a thing and I'm just now finding out about it, mostly because a snus reviewer I subscribe to reviewed a bunch of them. Fascinating...and a great way to quit dip.<br />
<br />
The guys behind Grinds Coffee Pouches had a successful Shark Tank pitch:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/UgvidnKkGPE" width="560"></iframe></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Here's a review of one of their products:</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4bCuYnDobXA" width="560"></iframe>
</div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-80501064090978680832017-10-22T16:37:00.001-04:002017-10-27T00:41:36.975-04:00Poem: To Cure Is To Care For (The Calamity Of So Long Life)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL71hjZahekvxAMnwjd96Az8-T4IxVpOURqY6ScMZEkFE8NWCUuqkjfAem2bPCyiHEtkE32E7a-FWLLH6lKPTgniBRLfyY4kKx0JX00KnCcsjW5BtKyqj5bYWdT6wFkBbrTNuTR-QWyI/s1600/is-immortality-possible-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="714" data-original-width="1363" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtL71hjZahekvxAMnwjd96Az8-T4IxVpOURqY6ScMZEkFE8NWCUuqkjfAem2bPCyiHEtkE32E7a-FWLLH6lKPTgniBRLfyY4kKx0JX00KnCcsjW5BtKyqj5bYWdT6wFkBbrTNuTR-QWyI/s640/is-immortality-possible-1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>To Cure Is To Care For</b><br />
<b>(The Calamity Of So Long Life)</b><br />
<br />
Better to be cured and die<br />
Than to be healed and live.<br />
<br />
To cure is to care for,<br />
Said the museum head.<br />
That's what the pills are there for<br />
Retorted the mummy undead.<br />
<br />
If medicine is magical<br />
Then what does the doctor do?<br />
His care is clearly clerical,<br />
His licenses not a few.<br />
<br />
To live so long immured<br />
Don't strike as dignified.<br />
To care for is to cure.<br />
If only I had died!<br />
<br />
If only you were by my side.<br />
<br />
To cure is to care for,<br />
The caring is what cures.<br />
A remedy with no wherefore<br />
Destroys its life for sure.<br />
<br />
If medicine is magical<br />
Then what am I living for?<br />
An eternal life that's chemical<br />
Impiously is wished for.<br />
<br />
There's the respect that makes<br />
Calamity of so long life:<br />
The crippled fear of aches and breaks,<br />
Of fortune and the two-edged knife.<br />
<br />
If medicine is magical<br />
Then surely there's a pill for that.<br />
The science of life is practical<br />
And surely there's a pill for that.<br />
<br />
To cure is to care for<br />
Said the parish priest.<br />
The only way to get there<br />
Is the belly of the beast.<br />
<br />
If salves and balms are magical<br />
What does the philosopher do?<br />
He rubs his chin methodical<br />
And thinks it hardly through.<br />
<br />
If medicine is magical<br />
Then magical is art.<br />
Think of the boy in the bubble<br />
And the baby with the baboon heart.<br />
<br />
To be cured until I die<br />
Is what I ask for my life.<br />
<br />
The only way to get<br />
Through the belly of the beast<br />
Is to die for once the death<br />
That gets you to the feast.<br />
<br />
To cure is to care for,<br />
He said as he slipped the blade,<br />
Dividing joint from marrow<br />
Before the body decayed.Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-23202164272699227122017-10-11T23:00:00.001-04:002017-10-11T23:00:48.596-04:00Pipe Tobacco Review: CAO Eileen's Dream<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lRnn-Mt36-w" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-75743869985509527832017-10-11T22:52:00.001-04:002017-10-11T22:52:46.286-04:00Snus Review: Catch Licorice<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yVc4q1l-k2E" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-73992104092037992442017-10-10T14:34:00.002-04:002017-10-10T14:34:59.932-04:00A Message to Abortion Abolitionists, & to All Christians<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xvOIo2L41Yw" width="560"></iframe></div>
Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-66023626769421098752017-10-09T23:37:00.002-04:002017-10-09T23:37:30.126-04:00The Problem With Learning Disabilities, Schools, & Doctors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXcvh0uStGMfjRY1rmK72vA6uA5wkg4y61lDJfnvUTKkEXftBZt44cX8Yowt5NRY2RdaF34gpnNn7bB4oZP24QkHatLvHAVhpTQGWMt6VIzg2gsvk1HKjG0o440HiqeMzMdA2L7ja460/s1600/171366080-56a36fb33df78cf7727d5e09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXcvh0uStGMfjRY1rmK72vA6uA5wkg4y61lDJfnvUTKkEXftBZt44cX8Yowt5NRY2RdaF34gpnNn7bB4oZP24QkHatLvHAVhpTQGWMt6VIzg2gsvk1HKjG0o440HiqeMzMdA2L7ja460/s640/171366080-56a36fb33df78cf7727d5e09.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
"One out of every five children has a learning disorder." "Roughly 15% of American children have a developmental disability." "Over forty million Americans suffer from mental illness." The statistics are printed on the literature in doctors' offices, displayed in the administrative offices of schools, and emblazoned on public service billboards. The numbers, variable and malleable as they might be from one pharmaceutical or educational pamphlet to the other, are unified in their message: lots of people have learning disabilities, lots of people are mentally ill, and lots of people need drugs. Sometimes lots of people are all three at once.<br />
<br />
As a teacher, and as a father, I think about this often.<br />
<br />
I don't work with children, but with adults, teaching languages. I have a great gig. My work is all in very small classes, a half dozen students at most, or one-on-one. Most of them study with me not because they have to, but because they want to, usually for success at work. Compared to those of most teachers, even at the college level, my students on the average are very motivated. I usually use or design my own curricula, and incorporate many visual, tactile, and audial games. Of course, my work has its challenges when compared to some other forms of teaching: students balancing family and work with study, or studying for the first time in years (sometimes decades), or the restraints of corporate timelines.<br />
<br />
Like any teacher, I see the differences in each student, the gifts, the struggles, even the disabilities. Most of my students are highly educated (not all) and skilled at what they do; some of them struggle to learn a foreign language. Well, actually, all of them do. Learning another language is difficult. What I should say is, some of them struggle more than others. And, as I said, they're motivated adults, so I can trust the picture I'm seeing.<br />
<br />
I'm far from an expert (words one never wishes to utter, always followed by a "but..."), but like many teachers one can't help forming field impressions (not to say diagnoses, Lord keep me). The difference for me, unlike for many teachers, is that any "condition" a student might have is only relevant to me in the classroom. I can have no effect on it whatsoever outside. These are grown-ups who have been grown-upping for some time, so I wouldn't want to have such an effect, but I couldn't even if I wanted to. For me, it can only ever be a classroom problem. So-and-so struggles with such-and-such. And that's that. Work around it. Try to overcome. That is not how it goes down in most public school settings.<br />
<br />
Now I understand that compared to public school teachers I have many advantages when it comes to dealing with learning disabilities. But let's consider briefly how our public education system works, and what the numbers that we are accepting might mean.<br />
<br />
I have written elsewhere that government schools can at their best only ever hope to produce good citizens, which most parents should consider a paltry goal. Parents should want their child's education to make them good humans.<br />
<br />
What concerns us here is what these schools, and what this education system, must be in order to make citizens and workers who graduate on time: a processing plant. A factory. Our confusion of what it means to be a person and what it means to be a citizen is lamentable, and has led us to accept the processes our public schools use.<br />
<br />
Learning disabilities are some of the few disabilities we're allowed to talk about openly as disabilities. This is because, unlike lacking the use of one's legs, a student with a learning disability robs the process of energy and time it should be using more efficiently. Failure to be neatly boxed, failure to be nicely socialized, is the last mentionable disability.<br />
<br />
One in five children is said to have a learning disability. This number comes from the American Academy of Pediatrics, and it is one of many numbers, sometimes contradictory or fuzzy in their definitions, that we accept.<br />
<br />
But let's think about what that means. One in five people has arthritis. One in five people confesses to peeing in the pool. One in five Americans is irreligious. One in five men has recently drunk more in one day than he ought. One in five Americans lives paycheck to paycheck. One of five Americans work from home. One in five women thinks being complimented on her purse is the best. One in five of us only writes checks once or twice a year.<br />
<br />
It doesn't take a lot to be normal, even if you're a minority. Scotland has the greatest percentage of redheads in the world, at only 13%. No one would say being a redhead in Scotland is abnormal. In fact, if you want to dress up as a Scot you'll probably wear a red wig 'neath your tam o'shanter.<br />
<br />
Ladies and gentlemen, one in five of us is quite normal. One in five women aged 30 is 5'7" or taller.<br />
<br />
I admit that epidemics are possible. That a society can be overwhelmed by a problem so pervasive that everyone is impacted by it in some way. But I cannot emphasize this enough: one out of five anything means that its normal. If I told you one out of five apples was golden would you think the golden apples were the weird ones? No, you'd think golden apples were normal too.<br />
<br />
But examine our education complex. It is unreliable. It is rigid. It churns out a bad product. It is through them, and their processes, that learning disabilities are being defined. The medical establishment quite naturally uses one principal lens in its diagnoses: how well the children do in school. Learning disabilities have been defined so far up that one in five is now being diagnosed as not fitting into school processes. That, simply put, is too much. It is, in fact, downright sinister.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it should occur to us that the problem is not the people being processed, but the process itself.<br />
<br />Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7951550829861093919.post-30282769055803732312017-10-01T12:02:00.001-04:002017-10-01T12:39:59.311-04:00Manipulation Is Of The Devil, & Maybe More Than You Think<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQs8kK0mUGB6OS4CZpkngBz7P8qyv4QD9fN_rAw0AQex5xjcVzBxL8vYPvE-edFMFrjCZyHUTVVOEpF5B_cvNqiEoc0P39q4s4ge12emBRxX8BjkasQxjZLYzBrg_r6c4U0Hfg1ztRPWw/s1600/india-4-yr-old-girl-offered-blood-sacrifice-finding-lost-mobile-phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="897" data-original-width="1200" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQs8kK0mUGB6OS4CZpkngBz7P8qyv4QD9fN_rAw0AQex5xjcVzBxL8vYPvE-edFMFrjCZyHUTVVOEpF5B_cvNqiEoc0P39q4s4ge12emBRxX8BjkasQxjZLYzBrg_r6c4U0Hfg1ztRPWw/s640/india-4-yr-old-girl-offered-blood-sacrifice-finding-lost-mobile-phone.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Manipulation is handling, from Latin <i style="text-align: left;">manus</i><span style="text-align: left;">, </span><i style="text-align: left;">manibus</i><span style="text-align: left;">. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: left;"><br />
We say "I don't like to be handled", meaning "I don't like to manipulated".<br />
<br />
Manipulation has an overtone of dominance. Of advantage to one's self.
<br />
</span><br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: left;">You might handle a situation, and such a handling might be for the good of all, but if you manipulate a situation, it's understood that you did it for your own gain.</span><br />
<br />
Manipulation of elements is "science" or "mechanics". Its morality is defined by its end, on who it's for and how it's done.</div>
<span style="text-align: left;">
</span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="text-align: left;">
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Manipulation of spirits is called "witchcraft" or "sorcery". Its morality is defined by where it comes from, by its personal authority. That is, God can tell a demon what to do, or talk to the dead, but we may not. (<i>see my previous, <a href="http://joffrethegiant.blogspot.com/2017/05/does-bible-really-condemn-magic.html" target="_blank">Does The Bible Really Condemn Magic?</a></i>)<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Manipulation of people is called "slavery", and it is demonic. L. Ron Hubbard is of his father the Devil. All manipulators of people are. Just as people attempt to make spirits or energies their slaves, so do we attempt to bend people to our will through lies and rituals. It is, at its root, also sorcery.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbPI7NpwLJH8zIMA4UzRCcNMbAq1OIsx4TcZVJQKW_MFEbK63IH9ff_ouskOSgt1j3b_mYcPqO9UdAAUxS-ebHSR1ItTpxzhbJFmyX__Vgi4WY9tYkQ3iF7Igx-JtgYrHW4LevOTG0q4/s1600/jackparsons_crowley_l_ron_hubbard.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="230" data-original-width="488" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbPI7NpwLJH8zIMA4UzRCcNMbAq1OIsx4TcZVJQKW_MFEbK63IH9ff_ouskOSgt1j3b_mYcPqO9UdAAUxS-ebHSR1ItTpxzhbJFmyX__Vgi4WY9tYkQ3iF7Igx-JtgYrHW4LevOTG0q4/s640/jackparsons_crowley_l_ron_hubbard.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Witchcraft. Witches. Sorcerers.<br />
<br />
Here is where I insert that dreaded Pauline phrase, "and such were some of you". In truth, such <i>are</i> some of we: by nature manipulators of people. Manipulators often aren't even aware of what they're doing; it is truly in their nature, it's how they navigate the world. It could be viewed as a sort of psychopathy, through which we see people as simply part of our environment, to be manipulated for our good as a piece of wood or metal. (I think awareness is probably the fuzzy dividing line between manipulators and abusers, but that is as an aside.)<br />
<br />
Such were some of you. Such are some of you. We all manipulate others to our advantage, through lies, through inter-personal rituals, through the leveraging of social structures.<br />
<br />
I hardly need to talk about lies, do I? We say or don't say something in order to get something from the person.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_0PUUe1sRTFbJATB-vevm-n08iBsOtgSwgKLQWKLIbrZy0puvPnKZ1O8YQvCW1g7ieVOGP-KFO5k01ozuSTZh_L083NNwk5bPZh8xyi2MY-nC7RK4quUOEvZDzGZcsmn8ojXrgjioO4/s1600/imstilldumpingmycreppyfolder_5cb3320b6bd45cdfd634930be08c01a8-350x252.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="350" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ_0PUUe1sRTFbJATB-vevm-n08iBsOtgSwgKLQWKLIbrZy0puvPnKZ1O8YQvCW1g7ieVOGP-KFO5k01ozuSTZh_L083NNwk5bPZh8xyi2MY-nC7RK4quUOEvZDzGZcsmn8ojXrgjioO4/s320/imstilldumpingmycreppyfolder_5cb3320b6bd45cdfd634930be08c01a8-350x252.jpg" width="320" /></a>We use rituals for control by using them to build intimacy (mutual rituals+time=intimacy) and then threatening to withhold or change them, or perhaps use them as emotional leverage. "After everything we've been through together, you go and say something like that?" "If you don't stop crying, mommy won't get you ice cream after church."<br />
<br />
And of course, we bully by using whatever power we have. I'm the boss, I'm the dad, I'm the smart one.<br />
<br />
All of this we do because we put ourselves first, not our Risen Savior Jesus. And I'm afraid that it's all as wicked as witchcraft. We are interacting with eternal beings, the sons of the Living God, co-heirs to the cosmos, and we dare to manipulate them as if we were their little gods. We ask a demon to bring us love, we ask a woman to overlook our adultery.<br />
<br />
Manipulation is of the Devil. The truth will set you free.<br />
<br />
"Why do you not understand what I say? It is because you cannot bear to hear my word. You are of your father the devil, and your will is to do your father's desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. But because I tell the truth, you do not believe me. Which one of you convicts me of sin? If I tell the truth, why do you not believe me? Whoever is of God hears the words of God. The reason why you do not hear them is that you are not of God."<br />
<br />
If we are Christians, we are to be like Jesus. Jesus serves. Jesus dies to self. That is how we must interact with people. Anything else is as wicked as sorcery.</span>Joffre The Gianthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01768180753189024057noreply@blogger.com0