Gee, I wish this weren’t true.
At Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, there’s a legend that, if you remove anything from the park and take it with you–say, a nice chunk of lava, as a souvenir–the volcano goddess Pele will be terribly angry and take painful vengeance on you ( http://www.thehawaiiplan.com/is-the-lava-rock-curse-real/ ). This prompts a lot of tourists to mail their souvenirs back to Hawaii, along with letters of apology to the goddess.
This has been going on for many years. The park visitors’ center used to have a display of agonized letters from repentant tourists, but that has been discontinued.
The letters are from real people who had really suffered–and thought the reason for it was the anger of a pagan goddess. “Dear Goddess Pele, I am SO SORRY that I took that rock! Ever since then I’ve had nothing but bad luck! My husband divorced me/ our car blew up for no reason/ my kid’s dog ran away/ our son voted for Obama/ my father-in-law fell off the roof…”
I’m not making it up. People believe that this volcano goddess is real, and has the will and the power to reach across the Pacific into Ohio or Illinois and mangle the lives of those who have offended her.
What does that say for the job done by our churches? You go to Sunday school as a child and then you go to church, and yet you sin against the real God without thinking twice about it. You would never write a letter of apology to God.
But people go to the trouble and the expense of mailing heavy rocks all the way back to Hawaii, along with abject letters to a pagan goddess begging her to forgive them and to lift her curse.
What does that say about our churches?
Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen… (Hebrews 11:1)
Here at our place, it’s our custom to watch Miracle on 34th Street after Thanksgiving. I don’t know how many times we’ve seen it. It never grows stale for us.
Just suppose a nice old man insists that he is, in fact, Santa Claus; and that he’s put on trial for his sanity. How could he possibly get out of this jam? It would take a miracle–right?
And a miracle is just what we get. And without any laws of nature being broken, either.
Look, if this story doesn’t stir up your feelings, you’re probably ready for an autopsy.
It’s a parable. It’s a story about faith. It’s what you’d get if someone were to make a movie of Hebrews 11:1. Do yourself a good turn, and see it. Or see it again. It will do you good.
Oh-ho-ho, you and me,/Giant brown rat upon my knee…
Hi, everybody, Mr. Nature here–with the Gambian pouched rat. If you look around youtube, you’ll find a lot of people have these as pets.
Around here we’ve had many regular mice and rats as pets. Their only fault is that they have short life spans. Rats and mice are smart, affectionate, and cuddly. In fact, they’re so smart that, if they lived ten years or so, they’d be winning chess tournaments and giving financial advice.
I don’t know how our cats would like sharing quarters with a Gambian pouched rat or any other kind, and I don’t propose to find out. But it sure looks like this would be a nice pet to have, especially if you don’t have a lot of space.
Yes, I know–some of you just have to see a mouse or a rat, and you’re outta here. But I also know that, when I used to bring one of my rats to see the vet, and had her–the rat, not the vet–sitting patiently on my shoulder, as good as gold, people who were at first quite unhappy even to see the rat wound up petting her and going kitchy-koo.
Praise God, for giving us animals that we can love and that can love us back. If we had been creating the world, we never would have thought of that.
This hymn of Thanksgiving came out of the horrors of the Thirty Years War. It was written by Pastor Martin Rickart in the town of Eilenburg, circa 1637. In that year the plague struck Eilenburg and the pastor had to conduct 4,000 funerals, including his wife’s.
And yet he found it in his soul to write a hymn thanking God for His many blessings.
This is mighty faith indeed.
I went to my famply’s house for Thansgiving. They such dum peple! So i ask why thay prayin, becose God he dont exhist and its jist stopid to say prairs to him and then my sister she started cryin, she is such a idjit, and i pashently tryin to explane there isnt no god and finely my Dad he puls me off my chare and push me out the dore. That is how jellous they can be. Thats one thing yiu find out reel quiwk when yuo go to Collidge and becom a interllectural, that regulur dum peple dont like it that yiu are smarter then them.
Wel i was prety hungry so i go back to my prefessers houss but he wuld not invight me in to have diner with him and his freinds. He have tought us that Thansgiving is a wite supracist holliday al abuot opressing the Nattive Amerikans and bringin in all that christin and Captillist stuf that has made the hole world bad. Thansgiving is amlost as bad as Collumpus Day, thats what he sais.
But i gesse he culd see i was reel, reel hunkry he fellt sory for me and he sais, Here, “yiu can have this old sweater” I was goin to throe it out “but yiu can ete it insted.” in case yuo dont kno, i am in a exspearmint, trying to get wimmims femail cromasoames but they shot me up with this moth stuff, i think it’s Hormoans, and it done som funny things to my apetight and i got to ware a hatt al the time or else peple make fun of my moth-antenners growin out of my head! So i had the sweatter, it wasnt bad with ketchup on it.
Libs and progs are popping their buttons over “a child’s first book of Evolution”–Grandmother Fish by somebody named Jonathan Tweet. NPR went into ecstasy about it, and the publishers are happy they got it out in time for Christmas.
So this Christmas, folks, give the gift of unbelief! Don’t worry about dying in your sins, because you’re gonna die anyway and it doesn’t matter whether you’ve done good or evil, and what the hell, the only things that really matter are Science and The State, those things are immortal…
You don’t even have to be an atheist: any liberal Christian who craves the approval of the ungodly can pump this stuff into a child’s head.
Well, this is what happens when you divorce Christmas from Jesus Christ. You have nothing left but greed and folly.
Ironic, isn’t it? We Christians in a Christian country–the Europeans marvel at the Christianity of America, not being able to see it up close like we do, and thus not able to appreciate how shallow it’s become–are ready to give away Christmas itself to the Enemy.
Can we please stand up a little? Can we please make some resistance?
At least Esau got a bowl of soup for his birthright.
We have sold ours for–well, if I start saying it, I won’t be able to stop.
Based on what I’ve told you so far, can you explain why this girl falls almost as soon as she lets go of the handlebars?
It’s possible she wasn’t going fast enough, and her bike hadn’t gathered enough momentum.
But the main reason is [drum roll, please]…
She was leaning forward! Not straight up or slightly backward, like I told you to.
So don’t blame me if you try riding no-handed this way and wind up smooching the pavement.
The ambulance finally appeared, and my aunt was transported to the nursing home and installed in a semi-private room where the other patient had a great big TV set which was playing Spanish soap operas.
We’re all upset, we prayed it wouldn’t come to this: but it has, and there was nothing we could do avert it. Poor Aunt Joan. For most of her life–she never married–she and her sisters traveled to almost every country on the planet, back in the 1950s and 60s when people didn’t just hop on a jet plane and go wherever they pleased. You had to have a lot of get-up-and-go, to be a world traveler back then.
There is something wrong with the way our civilization today handles the closing chapter of a life.
Well, there’s nothing for it but to trust in God, who tells us nothing but what is altogether true, and who will keep His promises. Whatever may afflict us now, it’s temporary. When we wake in God’s Kingdom, in His house of many mansions, we’ll be hard-put to remember what was hurting us.
But for the time being, it’s a rough ride.
Well, we’ve been to the nursing home and now we’re back home because we have to find out where my aunt and the ambulance have got to. They weren’t at the nursing home when they were supposed to be. Sometime today we also have to buy groceries. Then we’ll have to go back to the nursing home.
It seems the ambulance simply failed to show up when it was supposed to. It was scheduled for 10 a.m. and now it’s 11:30 and no one has seen the bloody thing yet.
I hate these hellzapoppin days in which you run back and forth and all around and nothing happens, nothing gets accomplished.
Hopefully I will be back this afternoon with everything done.