We think we’ve got troubles? King Alfred, twelve hundred years ago–he had troubles! Heathen poured across the sea and swamped his kingdom, they’d have killed him if they’d caught him, he had to hide out in a peasant’s shack in the middle of a swamp…
And he wrote this: King Alfred’s War Song. “For the Lord is our defense, Jesu defend us!” I don’t know about you, but I need a belt of that just now.
Psalm 127: “My hope is in the LORD, which made heaven and earth.”
Someday the heathen will either be converted or destroyed. By their own hand, most likely.
Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might. (Ephesians 6)
Why do we do this to ourselves–tear down the places of our lives, family places, and replace them with soul-less, lifeless, meaningless nail salons, trendy restaurants that won’t stay in business for six months, and condos that people will live in for just a year or two before they move on?
It’s bound to make money for somebody. I suppose.
Virtually all the places of my childhood are gone, wiped out, not even left as history. Places we loved in our first years of marriage, they’re gone, too.
I can’t imagine how this can possibly be good for us.
So we’re in the Stop & Shop buying our groceries for the week, this morning–Happy Labor Day, everybody–and we’re standing in the checkout line, with a guy behind us who looks just like Pat Morita but probably isn’t–
And suddenly everybody in the store looks up nervously, because it’s a deep drum-roll overhead, like giants are using the roof of the building for a party… And I’m thinking, “How many horror movies could you start with this exact scene?” But no one panicked because the store has windows and we could all see it was torrential rains making all that noise.
We had a few anxious moments, driving home. Patty gets nervous when we can’t see the road.
And now it’s let up. It stopped raining as soon as we got our groceries put away.
And Patty’s reading about “Flirty” the emotional support mini-horse who was taken aboard an airliner recently.
As you can see, the mini-horse is no bigger than many service dogs that now fly aboard airliners without provoking astonishment. Except “Flirty” weighs two or three times as much as a dog the same size.
People sure are emotionally fragile these days, dontcha think?
From Heidi we have a request for prayer for Eddy, a beloved member of her church, very badly injured in a recent auto accident.
Oh Lord–nothing hurts us like the loss of our loved ones, and our fellow-soldiers. Please, Father, spare your servant, Eddy: grant him healing, speed his recovery: for we know that all healing comes from you. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
I had a dream which troubled me, the other night. I pay attention to dreams: they might be trying to tell me something.
I dreamed Patty and I, in her car, were returning home across the broadest stretch of the Raritan River, which required us to cross a bridge. It wasn’t any of the bridges that are really there. It looked old, like it might’ve been built in the late 1930s.
There was almost no traffic, and very soon we had to slow down because there was so much litter strewn about: beer bottles, garbage bags burst open to disgorge their contents, damaged cardboard boxes. The lane itself grew narrower. And there were people aimlessly shambling this way and that–drunks and druggies. They didn’t seem to notice us. Or much of anything else, for that matter. Looked sort of like a scene from the Sumerian underworld. We could only pray we wouldn’t run over any broken glass and become a part of that scene ourselves.
We came off the bridge to find the highway in much the same condition, as far as the eye could see. It’s not supposed to be like this. Not like this at all.
Then the cat shoved the bedroom door open and yowled at the top of her lungs.
I think maybe I’ve seen more pictures of San Francisco than is good for me.