What do you get when you put a bunch of pastors into a bad jokes contest? Well, you get a lot of bad jokes.
Sometimes visiting Aunt Joan at the nursing home gets me down. Somehow these horrible jokes have helped me get back up. Imagining old Rev. Ver Straat even trying to tell one of these jokes has helped restore my spirit.
God gave us laughter for a reason; and that’s the reason.
We all know what it means to be on the Left of the political spectrum. If you don’t, spend five minutes listening to any noozie, any feminist, any teachers’ union hack, and you’ll know all about it.
But what does it mean to be on the Right? What with assorted bow-tie “conservatives” kicking out of their movement anyone who supports President Donald Trump, while liberals denounce as “fascist” anyone who isn’t them, it’s gotten kind of confusing. Especially since I can’t see what those “conservatives” are supposed to be conserving, if anything.
I think I know where I stand, and maybe it might be helpful if I said where that is. So let me state what I believe, and let the “right” and “left” chips fall where they may.
*Jesus Christ is the Son of God and King of Kings by right. Someday He will return to exercise that right on earth. His is the only world government I will ever support.
*Governments exist to carry out certain basic functions, defined in Romans 13 and elsewhere throughout the Bible, and summarized in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. Those functions do not include redefining basic human institutions or Saving The Planet, etc.
*America is a much better country than most others, and we have a right to try to keep it that way. We have a right to our borders.
*Christianity is the only true religion and no government has a right to suppress it. It goes without saying that Christians have a duty to treat others, including non-Christians, as they would be treated themselves. Humanists recognize no such obligation.
*There are only two “genders.” Period. Male and female created He them.
*Government has a natural tendency to try to devour everything it can cram down its gullet. Citizens of a republic have a duty to keep the government reined in.
*”Science” is a useful tool for finding out more about God’s created order. It is not an absolute arbiter of what is or is not.
*Capitalism creates wealth, from which everyone, sooner or later, benefits. But socialism creates poverty. Ask anyone in Venezuela.
I could go on, but those are the basics of my politics. If they’re enough to get me booted out of the conservative movement, I don’t care. I don’t think I even own a bow tie, anyhow.
Robbie’s medicine arrived today. It’s an ear gel, for knocking out her overactive thyroid. It shouldn’t be too bad an experience for her–a lot better than getting asthma medicine squirted up her nose every day for years. The instructions did come with an admonition to the applier (me) to wear latex gloves. It’s nice they mentioned it. If I were to do it bare-handed, it might knock out my own thyroid. That’s all I need. She’ll get her first dose tomorrow.
Meanwhile, here’s a nice video of some rather naughty cats, indicative of high intelligence and low morals.
Oh, and I’ve got my email back. Not in the format I’m used to, but at least it’s back.
I hadn’t even gotten my pants on this morning when my wife announced we were back in Computer Hell. This time it was the email: no one gets in, no one gets out. The experts wrestled with it for three hours before admitting they were stymied, no can do, wait till tomorrow and someone else will try…
Gee, it’s hard to edit the stuff they pay you to edit when you can’t get it out of the email.
Ooh, look at this! Windows wants to do an update. Right now!
And they want to merge human minds–if they can find any–with computers.
We have just heard from our veterinarian this morning. Robbie’s symptoms are caused by an overactive thyroid–not uncommon in cats as they get older, and ours are eleven–and can be treated with a prescription ear gel. Considering all the other really terrible things it could have been, this was good news and we thank you for your prayers–and we thank the Lord our God for hearing them and granting them.
Later on there is a radioactive iodine treatment that knocks out a bad thyroid once and for all, but we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Meanwhile, a semblance of order is returning to our household.
So I think I’ll put up one more post and then go on to vacuum, get a shower, go to the store, and hopefully get back to work on my book.
One of the unusual animals you’ll encounter in my books…
Don’t let anyone tell you writing a fantasy novel is easy.
Somehow today I have finished another half-dozen chapters in my new Bell Mountain book, The Temptation (No. 11 in the series), which is beginning to live up to its title. I give God the glory for that.
Robbie is all wiped out from her visit to the vet, Peep is hissing and growling at us because we have a vet’s office smell on us, Patty is trying to do more paperwork for Aunt Joan’s Medicaid while fearing for the health of our poor cat, and our poor country is being torn apart by lunatics. Other than that, everything’s just ticketty-boo.
The book soldiers on. Lord Chutt might be cracking up, and maybe the whole city of Obann with him. We shall see. I won’t know what happens till I write it.
We’re back from the vet’s. Robbie freaked out in the car. She wasn’t the only one. I decided I’d better pray: and this was the hymn I whistled, as loud as I could, the rest of the way there–What a Friend We Have in Jesus, here sung by Alan Jackson. This is the hymn that got me there with my eyeballs still in my head.
My baby had her blood taken for analysis, and received a thorough hands-on exam. The vet says the most likely culprit for Robbie’s condition is hyper-thyroid. There are other much grimmer possibilities, but she didn’t see any signs pointing to any of them. The blood work will be ready tomorrow afternoon.
I’m kind of wrung out by now, and I need to get outdoors and air out my brain.
If I’m not around much tomorrow, it’s because I have to take Robbie to the vet to have blood work done. It’s only a 15-minute drive, but try it sometime with a cat yowling piteously about once per second.
Please pray she’ll be all right.
If you’re new to the blog, I hope you’ll take a few minutes to explore the archives. There’s bound to be something you’ll like in there, somewhere. Heaven knows how many cat videos I’ve stored up.
If you come here often, bring a friend tomorrow. I’ll try to post at least a hymn and a “retro” article before I start trying to catch Robbie to put her in the carrier.
My wife fears that one of our cats, Robbie, has a serious medical problem which must be addressed, so off to the vet we go on Tuesday. I’m not altogether convinced, but I am convinced we need your prayers.
This poor cat! She’s had one health crisis after another. For years and years she was coughing violently, and we had to squirt medicine up her nose every day. Finally the neighbors from Hell left, and stopped doing whatever they were doing in the cellar that was coming up through the floorboards into our apartment–and Robbie stopped coughing. And started romping and playing.
But she has lost weight lately, Patty is sure it’s a thyroid disorder, so it’s back to the vet.
Those of you who have cats or dogs know how dear our pets are to us. And God knows how we love them: that’s why He gave them to us. Please send up a prayer for Robbie.
O Lord my God, whatever is wrong with my poor cat–and I pray it’s nothing much!–please, Father, put it right. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
On more than one occasion, I’ve been insulted by liberals on account of my age. As in, “You still don’t get it, do you, grandpa?” as a clever way of putting down to creeping senility my opposition to one or the other of their creepy social engineering projects. If I were only young and vibrant–and ignorant–I would naturally embrace the wisdom of socialism, gender-bending, or whatever.
I saw a movie last night in which a man, the victim of a reputation-destroying lie, was described even by his loving family as “old” and all but ready for the glue factory–at 68! Like, someone that old, it’s not even worthwhile to rescue his good name: he might pop off 15 minutes later. And the actor who played him looked only a little livelier than the mummy of Ramesses II (pictured above).
Sixty-eight years old… Wait a minute! I’m 68! Doh!
Oh, you mean “68 years young“! Is there a smarmier or more condescending expression in any language in the world? And meanwhile, how did the word “older” come to mean “less old”? How is that a euphemism for “old”?
Well, lemme tell ya somethin’ about “old.”
If you’re 68 instead of 38, it means you can remember better times and better people than a 38-year-old will ever know–although he’s in better shape than a 28-year-old, and much better off than an 18-year-old. It means you have seen better ways of doing things than are done now, and you know what they look like and remember how to do them. It means you know, for a fact, that we don’t have to live like sock puppets. You’ve even seen some worse things, and you know what should be avoided.
A doctor said to me, a year or so ago, “You ride your bike no-handed. What more do you want?” I rest my case.
