Encore: ‘Oh, Sinner Man!’

If God has blessed your art, this is what you get when you take a traditional African-American spiritual, Celtic mandolin music, and video of Scotland’s offshore islands–this wonderful rendition of Oh, Sinner Man! Where You Gonna Run To?

As this hymn makes so clear, there will indeed be judgment–and there’s nowhere any sinner can go to escape it. The sure escape is through belief and trust in Jesus Christ, who has already in His own person paid the penalty for our sins. But no amount of fast talk, no amount of money, no amount of political pull will suffice us. It’s very much a Jesus Christ-or-nothing proposition.


The Unemployable Cat

This is the kind of thing that goes on under Baroness Vannett’s back porch all the time, in my Bell Mountain books. Wait’ll this cat tries to get a job at any farm. “You play with the rats? Get lost!”

But I’ve had rats as pets, and mine were wonderful–affectionate, fun-loving, and smart (even if they were a little hard on each other). People who muttered “Yeeeew!” when I brought one of my rats into the vet’s waiting room wound up petting and talking baby-talk to it.

And I did have a cat named Henry who peacefully sniffed at my pet mice and never tried to knock the lid off their aquarium. But I think that was because what he really wanted was my baby fence lizards. Oh, he wanted them so badly! But he didn’t get ’em.


Happy Birthday, Linda (‘Praise the Lord’)

Our friend Linda Sorci is having a birthday today, and she’s asked us to play this worship song by Chris Christian, Praise the Lord. So here it is!

But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.   –Psalm 22:3


Wanted: More Young Readers

Image result for images of happy teens

A fuss was generated here this week by someone who called us “all a lot of poor old fogeys” who gather on this blog. Just because I’m 126 years old, she thought I had “no feel for modern life.”

As I comb the trilobites out of my four-foot-long white beard, I’d like to mend this situation, if I can. And I think the way to do that is to invite more young people to visit this site and join us living fossils in our conversations. I think it would be fun! I’d like to hear from you. I mean, just because you’re teenagers, or somewhere under 30, doesn’t mean you have nothing worthwhile to say. I wish my Grandpa were still around for me to talk to. He used to play dominoes with Hammurabi. But as you yourself get older, you tend to run out of much older people to talk to.

Anyhow, the door is open, the welcome mat is out, and you just might like it here. Come on in and set a spell.


How Infirm a Foundation

Image result for images of blatant lies

I fear the long-term consequences, whatever they might turn out to be, of basing a whole civilization on a foundation of lies.

I’m not talking about the little, everyday lies that are part of human life in a fallen world. No. I mean great, thumping lies–not silly opinions, not mere mistakes, but actual bodacious whoppers: like, for instance, that whole business of “I identify as something that I’m most certainly not,” for which various government agencies are poised to punish you if you don’t believe in them. Untruths upon which public policy is based, like Man-Made Climate Change. Things that simply aren’t true. But power is brought to bear against anyone who tries to deny those things.

It hit home for me yesterday, when I went from writing about the big, hulking, smirking man who “won” a women’s weight-lifting title, with all the nooze media slavishly calling him “her,” to reading in my Bible, John 8:40-47, in which Jesus, unable to persuade some Pharisees that He was telling them the truth when He said He was sent to them from God, concluded that they were wedded to a lie.

“If God were your father,” Jesus said, “ye would love me, for I proceeded forth and came from God; neither came I of myself, but he sent me. Why do ye not understand my speech? even because ye cannot hear my word.

“Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it. And because I tell you the truth, ye believe me not.

“Which of you convinceth me of sin? And if I say the truth, why do ye not believe me? He that is of God heareth God’s words: ye therefore hear them not, because ye are not of God.”

Ye are not of God.

Our universities teach that there is no such thing as truth–only “your truth” or “my truth.” There are no facts: only whatever helps the Left politically, or doesn’t help.

And so, leftids, you’ve convinced me–convinced me that your whole secular humanist, globalist, heaven-here-on-earth enterprise is owned, lock, stock, and barrel, by Satan, the father of lies.

Is it harmless for a man to say he’s a woman, and for all sorts of important and influential people–nooze media, government, the Olympic committee, multitudes of college professors and teacher unions–to support him in this claim, and demand that everybody else support him, too, or else?

No, it’s not harmless: because it amounts to foolish, sinful mortals setting themselves up as having the authority to re-define, and overthrow, God’s created natural order, as if they themselves were God.

And we know where that comes from, and we know where it’s going. Selah.


Plumbing the Depths

Image result for images of amateur plumber

I am by no means a handyman. Don’t even think about calling me to fix something. But our bathroom sink was clogged, and over the years, I’ve learned how to do this particular job. I did it, and that’s why I’m running late this morning.

It makes me happy to be able to accomplish something. I mean, this is Day 5 of trying in vain to sort out my inexplicable loss of referrals from Facebook–but now at least my drainpipe works!

There’s something I very much want to write about today, but due to massive Global Warming forecast for tomorrow, in the form of snow and sleet and freezing rain, we will try to do our weekend’s grocery shopping today instead of tomorrow.

Meanwhile–hey, join in the fun, and try to get here from your own Facebook page! You can even take that Hank Williams song and share it with your Facebook friends. I’d like to see what happens as a result.


Hank Williams: ‘I Saw the Light’

Running late today, but never mind. And I hope you don’t mind letting a Hank Williams song do the honors today: I Saw the Light, from 1948. Oops, that’s old.

I can’t believe God isn’t pleased when our otherwise thoughtless popular culture turns around to praise Him. Poor Williams, a victim of incurable chronic back pain, died in 1953 at the age of 29 from a heart attack brought on by prescription drugs and alcohol. But he had this song to give us first–inspired, he said, by a remark made by his mother on their way home from church.


Everyone’s a Critic!

So you’re trying to get your career in the opera under way, practicing in the most private place you’ve got–and along comes this cat who just has to criticize. But then cats have their own ideas about what constitutes music.


Noozetalk

Image result for images of terror strike in london today

By now you’ve heard there’s been another terrorist strike in London today. The bad guy drove his car onto the sidewalk on Westminster Bridge, in sight of the Houses of Parliament, mowing people down, killing some and badly injuring many. Guess who’s M.O. that is.

Then he got out of the car and stabbed a police officer–whereupon they shot him.

I’m not here to function as a reporter of the incident; besides which, the details are still coming in and we haven’t got the whole story yet. But one thing I did read caught my eye.

To set the scene: this bad guy, having just wreaked havoc on the bridge, gets out of his car and, in front of a whole crowd of witnesses, plus TV cameras, he stabs a police officer. At which point, finally, he gets shot.

And the nooze report puts it like so: “a man, believed to be the suspect…”

What? You mean he isn’t? Like maybe he’s just some innocent passerby that the police shot down because they didn’t have anything else to do at the moment?

I’m thinking maybe I ought to be thankful that the noozies didn’t label the killer “a Trump supporter.”

As a vehicle for transmitting accurate, reliable information, the nooze media have become increasingly inadequate. They’re either too careful when there’s surely no reason to be, or else totally reckless: it all depends on what political spin they want to put on the story.

If you can’t believe the “news,” you might as well not have any.


A Cozy Little Snake

Hi, Mr. Nature here–with an animal that possibly lives in your own back yard without your ever having seen it: DeKay’s snake, aka the brown snake.

I know, I know, quite a few of you are afraid of snakes. But these are very small, totally harmless, and of a very meek temperament: I’ve caught many of them by hand, and not one has ever tried to bite me. Anyhow, they couldn’t hurt you if they wanted to, and they seem to know it. Most of them, when caught and handled, calm down in a matter of seconds. They used to be pretty common in my neighborhood, but what with the perpetual war on nature that goes on in New Jersey, it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen one. I miss them.

These little snakes live in leaf litter, where their small size and generally brown or greyish coloration helps them blend into the background. They eat bugs and slugs and grubs, and the occasional earthworm–in fact, they eat a lot of things that any gardener would want them to eat.

Again, they never try to bite when you pick them up. No self-respecting Northern water snake would ever let you get away with that. DeKay’s snake is not a very exciting snake–which is the way I like them.

So there you have it, more of God’s stuff–a little animal that’s pretty to look at, easy to handle, and does no harm whatsoever. It deserves the right to go about its peaceful little business unmolested.


%d bloggers like this: